


Midnight

by Azertyrobaz



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotp, Family Feels, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23686885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azertyrobaz/pseuds/Azertyrobaz
Summary: Cara gets more than she bargained for when she agrees to fill in for Greef for a couple of days. Her favorite bounty hunter is in trouble and everything is not as it seems. Story about friendship and family.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Comments: 86
Kudos: 211





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually a bit nervous about this story, as I usually only write AU. But this plot idea wouldn't leave me and I hope I did it justice. Should be a three or four-parter. Cara and Din are friends, there is no pairing in that story (sorry).
> 
> Feel free to comment and kudos as always. :)
> 
> My other WIP has not been abandoned (why am doing this to myself?) and will continue to be updated as well.

** Midnight **

_In the darkness before the dawn  
In the swirling of this storm  
When I'm rolling with the punches and hope is gone  
Leave a light, a light on_

_Millions of miles from home  
In the swirling swimming on  
When I'm rolling with the thunder but bleed from thorns  
Leave a light, a light on_

_In the darkness before the dawn  
In the darkness before the dawn  
Leave a light, a light on  
Leave a light, a light on_

(Coldplay, _Ghost Stories)_

Cara was bored.

Greef had asked her to handle the ‘shop’, as it were, for a couple of days, and she had been even more bored at the time and had accepted, stupidly thinking that more responsibility would mean more things to do. But no. It meant more responsibility, yes, but also more dumb people to deal with, and more boredom. To no one’s surprise but hers at first, it turned out that bounty hunters were _exceptionally_ dumb. The Mandalorian was the exception to the rule, and yet he still could prove particularly _dense_ sometimes.

It had been fun for a while – making sure all remaining Imperial presence had its ass kicked and sent off Nevarro. The less fun part had been the realization that Moff Gideon had probably survived the crash of his Tie fighter. And announcing it to Din who, to be fair, had only grumbled something about it having been ‘too easy’. It certainly hadn’t looked _too easy_ from where she was standing. No, it had looked part impressive, part reckless and just a tiny bit part dumb (okay, a _big_ part dumb, but she hadn’t said it to his face – yet).

That was her life, now. Being bored, and taking care of dumb people. Din just happened to be her _favorite_ dumb person, which wasn’t saying much, but she’d take what she could get.

She hadn’t seen him for several weeks, and hoped he’d show up soon. From her calculations – the man worked like clockwork and had never disappointed – he was bound to come and collect his reward in the next few days, which had been one more reason towards accepting Karga’s request.

He had been true to his word, and had started looking for clues into the kid’s home planet and species. But he’d quickly realized that with Gideon’s probable return from the not-really-dead-in-the-first-place, asking questions about a strange child with even stranger magic tricks would probably attract the wrong kind of attention. Yet several months had gone by, now. And still the Moff hadn’t made his play. It was a waiting game, which meant staying vigilant and on top of things, even when you didn’t know where the danger would come from.

In short, same old same old as far as Mando was concerned. Cara had been surprised at first at his cavalier attitude, but now that she’d started spending more time with bounty hunters, she could kind of understand. He led a nomadic, unpredictable and dangerous life. The fact that he had a baby to take care of now was just one more element to take into consideration when he accepted work. He still needed to earn his keep, and doubly so since he had to feed and protect the kid. So he’d taken advantage of his being back in the guild, and started doing what he was best known for again. And Cara had to admit, he was damn good at it. Which explained why she knew he’d soon be back with the four targets he’d been assigned.

But in the meantime, she was bored.

Until someone arrived in the cantina and mumbled darkly: “Looks like Mando’s back.”

“What do you mean?” she pestered immediately.

“A Razor Crest just landed. Pretty sure he’s the only one flying that piece of junk,” replied the disgruntled bounty hunter. Need she point out that Din wasn’t liked by his so-called peers? He wasn’t. Most of it she could attribute to jealousy, but she was quite sure some of it was also born out of fear. But she’d never tell him that – he either knew, or was too dense to realize it on his own. Knowing him as she did, probably a bit of both.

 _Finally_ , something to do – her favorite guild member was back. Maybe he’d stay for a couple of days and they’d shoot the breeze. She was getting quite fond of teasing him and getting drunk in his presence. And yes, as much as she didn’t like little kids, his was admittedly cute and was close to almost pronounce her name correctly.

Cara waited. Five minutes. Ten. And then she quickly started to worry – this wasn’t like Din. He usually immediately came here and let other people handle the unloading of carbonite blocks, as it was a tedious process. Fearing he was injured in some way and thus avoiding her presence – she had an ‘I told you so’ at the ready for him – she sighed and stood up from her post, asking a droid to keep an eye out, as she trusted them more than the other patrons. Droids didn’t drink, after all.

She swiftly walked to the landing area, and there it was indeed – the Razor Crest. In all its rusty glory. There was little doubt that this was the Mandalorian’s, but the ramp wasn’t down. Had the idiot set course for Nevarro, fallen asleep, and not woken up yet?

“Hey, Mando?” she yelled, knocking on the metal with the butt of her blaster – you couldn’t be too careful. Before she could figure out how to message him, the tell-tale sound of ramp hinges activating could be heard, and she took a few steps back, already working on the few choice words she would have for him. Probably something regarding his advanced age and early onset deafness.

But the words died in her throat before the ramp was completely lowered.

“Kid? Where’s your dad?”

The brown-eyed tyke was the only ship’s occupant who greeted her. Had Din remotely activated the ramp? Was he playing a trick on her? But looking at the big-eared, innocent creature, she immediately doubted it, and gripped her blaster harder – he seemed worried, and kept trying to say her name, holding his tiny arms out.

“Hey, what’s wrong, little one?” she asked, gently grabbing him and scoping the cargo area.

It was empty. Empty of bounty hunter, and empty of preys – the carbonite load bare. This, more than anything else, told her that something was _very_ wrong. He’d had weeks, that bay should have been _full_.

“Mando?” she called out again, louder. “Are you there? Are you hurt?”

She started searching the ship slowly and methodically, the child held tightly in her arms, and her blaster at the ready.

Her second inkling that something was _very wrong indeed_ , came when her eyes fell on a shiny object close to the vacant berth. A Mandalorian helmet. And not just any helmet, she knew. But Din’s. Strangely enough, her first instinct was to close her eyes. If the man usually wearing that particular helmet was in the vicinity, in the process of sleeping, dying, or worse, he still wouldn’t want her seeing him. She’d learned that the hard way, and she wouldn’t be making that mistake again. Not after all they’d been through.

The child whimpered, and his lowered ears told her everything she needed to know.

“What happened?” she asked him rhetorically, as he unfortunately couldn’t reply, her voice almost breaking.

She searched the rest of the ship, top to bottom, but still no sign of Din. She found the rest of his armor in the cockpit, expertly laid out. It hadn’t been carelessly discarded like his helmet. And this gave her an important clue. She knelt down, the cold railing doing little to calm her nerves, and looked for other hints next to the berth. Signs of a scuffle, of this there was little doubt. The crates were not in their usual places and dust had been disturbed. Drops of blood, too. Not enough to be worrying, but then she was already _pretty fucking_ worried.

The boy emitted another sound of distress, and Cara felt bad for having all but ignored him until now – he was probably worried sick. She shushed him as best as she could but he kept wriggling, and she had no choice but to deposit him on the floor. He immediately aimed for the helmet, and hugged it to his chest, the beskar almost as tall as him. The sight just about broke her again, but she knew she had to remain focused – there was no body, which meant there was still a chance to find Din alive.

“I’ll get him back, little one,” she vowed. “I’ll get your father back.”

First things first, she called Greef – she wasn’t staying on Nevarro any longer than absolutely necessary, and if he wanted his business in safe hands, then he’d better get his wrinkled ass back ASAP. She didn’t tell him _why_ she was abandoning her post – that might come later if she needed backup – but he seemed to understand that it wasn’t on a whim, and didn’t press her. Next, she checked if the ship had enough weapons or if she needed to grab some from her own quarters, but it looked like the only missing thing from the Razor Crest was its pilot. There was enough to wage a small war, as expected. His pulse rifle was in its usual place next to the cockpit, and she could imagine Din feeling almost as naked without it as without his armor. That is, if he was still capable of feeling anything.

Cara groaned – this line of thinking wasn’t helping anybody, least of all the kid, who still hadn’t released his father’s helmet.

“Let’s check the flight logs,” she announced loudly, which distracted the boy long enough for him to raise his sorrowful eyes towards her, and request to be picked up again. She wasn’t an expert on such matters, but it seemed to her like the little one hadn’t slept for a while and was at the end of his rope, his movements sluggish and frown pronounced. He squealed when she started walking towards the ladder – he was pointing at the helmet. She sighed sadly but understood, and picked it up as well. It was a lot heavier than she had expected. Whether that was the beskar itself, or because of what the object represented, she chose not to find out.

“Now, I’m pretty sure you didn’t fly all this way on your own, kid,” she said, searching the logs from the pilot seat, child and helmet on her lap. She knew Din had started teaching him things, but flying was a bit optimistic. It had been a security protocol, as far as she could tell – what or who had triggered it though, she had no idea, but hoped it was good news.

“But you’re the one who opened the hatch when I knocked, right?” she praised, because this sounded possible – whether he managed to reach the button on his own or used his gift, she wasn’t sure. Still, she’d congratulate Mando on that if she saw him again. _When_ she saw him again.

“Right,” she continued out loud, seeing as the boy settled better against her when he could hear her voice, “looks like you were coming from the next system, so not too far. Planet Gerex 5… I don’t think I’ve ever been there.”

She tried to recall if Karga had told her anything about the bounties Din had been sent to capture – but her memory drew a blank. Bail jumpers, most probably, but she had no way to know if Gerex 5 was in any way relevant. Had he been attacked by a target there? Was he investigating something else? She had to err on the side of caution in any case, as it was the only place where she could start figuring out what happened. Her only clue.

“Well, here we go again,” she sighed, and entered the coordinates.

ETA was four hours, which gave her enough time to eschew possible scenarios after they cleared Nevarro’s atmosphere and the autopilot was activated. She tried to get the kid to either eat something or rest, but that proved impossible. He’d whine anytime she’d disappear from his line of vision, and alternated between holding his dad’s helmet or sucking on his mythosaur’s pendant. All in all, nothing that helped her concentrate or forget what was at stake, here – she couldn’t allow herself to envision what would happen if Din wasn’t found. _Or found dead._

The four hours proved to be just about as much as she could handle.

Cara switched off the autopilot as they were approaching Gerex 5 – she could land _precisely_ where the Razor Crest had taken off from, thanks to the logs, but wouldn’t. She didn’t want to announce her presence loudly if whoever was responsible for Din’s disappearance was still in the vicinity. If the ship had flown straight to Nevarro, then it had only been a few hours. A day at most. Probably. _Hopefully_.

She flew as high as she could once they breached the atmosphere, and used the Crest’s computer to scan for life forms – the planet was small, hot, sparsely populated and consisted of a lot of sand, as far as both the ship and her eyes told her. There wouldn’t be much in terms of cover when she had to land, and she grumbled.

She eventually chose a spot two clicks north from the Razor Crest’s last landing spot and five clicks from the nearest life forms – she would get closer on foot. Cara debated for about half a second whether the kid was coming with her, but since there was no way she would be going anywhere without Din’s helmet, it meant he had to come, as she couldn’t separate the two at the moment. She had to be ready for any outcome, and her preferred one was finding Din alive, and unhurt. Which meant he’d need his helmet – she could figure out later how she would give it to him without seeing him first. In her mind, finding him alive and not seeing his face were both as important, as unpractical as it sounded.

Both child and helmet were put in a canvas sack she carried on her back with some blankets in lieu of padding, and she armed herself with everything she could comfortably – and not so comfortably – carry, including Din’s prized pulse rifle, and several disintegrating bullets. The professional soldier in her had balked at first when she witnessed the weapon in action, leaving nothing behind but fabric and static – Din had broken several New Republic and bounty hunters’ guild laws when customizing his shotgun – but after everything she’d been through, and especially today, she relished the fact that she might be able to use it.

After making sure that the kid was securely settled against her back – he complained when she closed the sack again but quickly quieted down, as if he understood somehow that they were on their way to get his father – she exited the Crest, checked that the life forms were still further north but no closer, and went on her way with a firm step. Her first stop had to be the previous spot the ship had landed – she dreaded what she would find there, as it could very well be Din’s ultimate resting place. But she discovered nothing. Not a trace. Not a drop of blood. Almost no disturbance on the sand except for tracks leading to her next stop.

The planet’s twin suns were starting to set, thankfully, as the heat made her clothes painfully cling to her skin. She kept using her binoculars on the way, making sure she was still walking in the right direction – it seemed that the life forms the ship had detected were not moving. Whether that was good or bad, she’d decide once she was close enough.

Walking on sand was a slow process she didn’t particularly relish, but the twilight was showing her the way. The temperature was dropping rapidly, making her shiver now, her wet clothes not helping. Her goal turned out to be a makeshift encampment, which she discovered just as the first stars appeared in the night sky.

Three Rodians were sitting by a fire pit. No sign of Din.

Cara groaned internally. _Rodians_. She still hadn’t met one that she liked and she could only hope that those were on the dumb side, as far as bounty hunters were concerned. Because from the look of things, they weren’t targets but opportunistic _bastards_ who’d stolen Din’s bounty – she could see the carbonite blocks from where she was lying on the still hot sand, the rifle’s scope against her right eye. But whether they’d done away with the man before looting his ship or not, it was impossible to tell.

The Mandalorian should have been able to handle three Rodians on his own, but given that he hadn’t been wearing his armor at the time, she guessed he’d been taken by surprise. This was only conjecture on her part and she _hoped_ with everything that she had that she’d soon be able to ask him about it.

They were speaking quietly and she could only pick up a few words, not being well versed in Rodian. But they looked nervous, worried. Their movements skittish and fretful. Something hadn’t gone according to plan. Something had escaped them, and she hoped that they meant Mando.

And then it almost all went to hell.

One of them started looking for something in his pocket, frantically, the surprise clear on the reptilian face. She saw the blinking red light before she heard the rhythmical beep, and this time cursed out loud. _A tracking fob_.

She had no time to think about what it meant and aimed the rifle towards the closest Rodian. Screams and orange sparks in the afterglow. Reloaded calmly. Shot again. Then once more.

All done. All dead.

Cara breathed out.

It had taken less than a minute, but it took her far longer to calm herself down and check, double check, and triple check, that apart from her and the kid, they were on their own.

Finally, she allowed a loud groan to escape her – it looked like interrogating the Rodians regarding Din’s whereabouts was now out of the question, then. But the fob had changed everything. The guild was no longer looking for the kid. Yet someone else was, obviously. This was the break Mando had been yearning for, and might explain his presence on the planet.

Who had the Rodians been working for? Cara regretted her quick decision to shoot first, and ask questions later, but only just, as it was doubly important now to make sure the child was safe. How would she explain it otherwise to his dad once they found him?

Cara sighed and stood up – they were not going to find him tonight, that was for sure. It was getting colder and colder, and she’d soon be unable to see much without using a lamp. She didn’t want to attract any attention, and had to decide what to do swiftly. First, she went through the Rodians’ belongings, but found nothing of importance apart from the tracker, which she destroyed with a well-aimed kick. It didn’t seem like they had stolen anything else from Din’s ship. This was a surprise – surely the Rodians would have known that the beskar cost more than the ship itself, several times over. And yet they hadn’t touched it, choosing the carbonite blocks instead.

She’d have to take them back to the Crest, one way or another. It wasn’t anything to do with the money or the carbon-frozen occupants. She couldn’t care _less_ about them. But if this turned out to be the Mandalorian’s last job… As painful as it was to envision it, she didn’t want it to have been in vain. She owed him that, at the very least.

Cara had two choices: either she trekked back to the ship with the remaining light, then flew back here to load the blocks, or she could have them trail behind her. But it would be a slow and tedious process on the sand with the whining kid on her back. In the end, she still chose that solution, as she couldn’t be certain no one else would come for them.

She checked on the boy several times during the journey – he seemed particularly vocal and mournful. Fearing he’d hurt himself at first, she’d tried finding out what was wrong. But he seemed alright, despite his incessant sobs.

“Sorry little one, I can’t hold you right now,” she told him, seeing that he wanted to be picked up. “I need easy access to the binocs and my blaster and I only have two hands.”

He howled louder, his little arms pointing out, and she tried to ignore the sound. For the hundredth time, she wondered how Din could handle it. It took everything out of her not to hug him properly and reassure him. But they couldn’t stop – they needed the safety of the Crest, and he was probably just hungry and exhausted.

The five blocks slowly trailed behind her, the sound they made each time they clashed freezing her even more than the low temperature in the almost darkness. An unforgiving and resounding metallic clank that did nothing to calm her nerves. Cara felt like death itself was following her, the black shapes reminding her of coffins. This was definitely _not_ something she should be thinking about, but she couldn’t help it. Especially when she could hear and feel the child crying his little heart out against her back.

She used the night vision of her binoculars rather than an actual lamp for the last click or so, and she only stumbled a couple of times. The kid had finally exhausted himself, and she hoped he’d fallen asleep. Cara also longed for the sweet release of unconsciousness, but it would be a long time coming – she’d have to decide whether it was safe to remain on the planet or not. She had come to the uncomfortable realization that whoever had Din was probably off world, by now. Any clues of his whereabouts she would and _should_ have found already. If he’d been killed by the Rodians or anyone else, there was no reason for his body to be hidden – she had to focus on that. There was still a chance that he was alive somewhere.

Finally, just as exhaustion was slowly starting to creep in her heavy limbs, the reassuring shape of the Razor Crest appeared in her line of sight. Cara loaded the five carbonite blocks, then closed the ramp again. She still had to move the blocks to the carbonite bay, but first she had to release the boy, who’d started twisting around and complaining again.

“Alright kid, I got you, I got you, calm down!” she said, opening the canvas bag quickly and getting the sulky child out.

Once down, he made a beeline for the carbonite blocks, dragging the helmet behind him, which was no easy task – he was stubborn, she’d give him that. He stopped next to a particular block, then looked up at her, babbling loudly and incoherently all the while trying to move the helmet on top of the black shape.

And then Cara remembered.

Din had been given _four_ targets. There were _five_ carbonite blocks on the floor of the ship.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments! I'm glad you're liking the story so far.

_No_. This couldn’t be happening. Surely not. Cara hadn’t missed something so obvious, right? There was no way the Mandalorian was in there, frozen, helpless, but hopefully alive. She needed to check, to come closer to the block, which she did at first… And then forcefully closed her eyes. _No_. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see his face. The carbon figures were hard to distinguish, but this still felt _wrong_. He wouldn’t want that. The idiot preferred being _dead_ than that.

She sighed and tried to order her thoughts, turning her back on the child. And…the block. She’d only referred to it as the block.

What if the kid was wrong? What if he was in another block? But he’d ran straight to this one, no hesitation, and he’d always had an uncanny sixth sense. Especially when it came to the bounty hunter. Cara needed to _do something_ , to act, but she felt just as frozen as the carbonized targets at her feet. Breathing in deeply, she looked at the _other_ four blocks. One was definitely a Twi’lek, another looked like a Gran, and the other two seemed human. The first of the two was _definitely_ too round around the middle to be Din, and the second had well, _breasts_. She didn’t think the Mandalorian had been hiding _those_ under his armor.

Cara knew she was stalling, but she still needed to _think_. Figure out how she was going to do this. _If_ she was going to do this, but the boy wouldn’t allow her to ignore him for too long. There was also the possibility that he would take things into his own tiny, magical hands, so to speak. With likely unexpected consequences. Still undecided, she put the four blocks in the carbonite load. It was getting crowded on the floor, and they’d need room. The unfreezing process wasn’t pleasant, and if that was Din in there, he’d be disoriented and prone to lash out once he was released. She knew _she_ would be in his shoes. Next, she checked that the ship was well and truly secure – no one could and _would_ come in. She didn’t yet know how he had been ambushed by the Rodians, and how the _hell_ he’d let himself be carbon-frozen, but she wouldn’t take any risk. Cara hesitated flying out to find them a more secure spot, on Nevarro or anywhere else, but if that wasn’t Din in there, she’d have to be able to defend herself and the kid. All in all, easier to do that here with all the weapons she was still carrying.

There was no turning back. She’d done everything she could think of to delay the inevitable. Taking a deep breath, she faced the fifth block and the child, who was still emitting unintelligible sounds, and moving his hands around the dark shape. Maybe he was already trying to use his power to release…whoever was inside. Cara looked at the figure quickly. Human. About the right size and shape as far as she could tell. She didn’t linger on the face, despite how little she could see of it.

“You really think your dad’s in there?” she asked the boy rhetorically. But the look he gave her made her realize that he probably understood more than he let on. This wasn’t a look you usually saw on a kid, be it a fifty year old one or not – this was utter confidence and a great deal of mental exhaustion.

“Okay little one, okay,” she declared, kneeling down. “But we’ll have to do it my way, alright? If he’s in there, he’s going to be pretty confused once I release him. Probably blind and with no memory of how he got there in the first place. So you’re going to _stay_ in my arms, until we’re sure that’s him and he is okay.”

Cara gently picked him up, and to her surprise he allowed it.

“I think it’s fine if you see his face, because you’re a kid and well… _his_ kid. If I’m wrong he can punch me when he’s better,” she added, trying to make _some_ light of the situation.

“But I absolutely _can’t_ see him,” she started again more seriously. “So we’re going to leave the helmet where it is, and that way he can put it on and it will be fine.”

Cara groaned internally. None of this was _fine._ Who was she kidding? She could pretend that everything was going to be alright for the kid’s sake, but the stark truth was that nothing would ever be the same again. She didn’t know much about the Mandalorian’s creed, but part of her already understood that despite all the precautions she was now taking, it was already too late. And she dreaded Din’s reaction. Not his immediate one, once he’d stopped feeling the after effects of the carbonite and realized that him and the kid were safe again. This one she could handle, even if he was jumpy and combative. No, she was thinking of his _delayed_ reaction. The one that would come later and sneakily creep up on him, catching him unaware. He’d broken his oath – he wouldn’t be allowed to put his helmet back on. Ever again. He’d told her as much on Sorgan, and she was already preparing all her counter arguments in her mind. She would not let him surrender if she could help it.

But first things first, Cara had to be sure her friend was indeed the one currently trapped in carbonite. The child – quiet now, patiently waiting for her to act from the safety of her arms – had almost convinced her. Still, she released her blaster and placed it nearby before activating the correct sequence on the block to begin the unfreezing process.

This wasn’t the first time she witnessed it, but it had never been an experience she relished. She couldn’t help but think that she would _never_ subject herself to this – there was still a chance he could die after all, even if his vitals had looked steady on the block screen – and tried to imagine what had gone through Din’s mind, if that was him indeed, when he went under. Especially for someone who worked as a bounty hunter and was _very_ familiar with the hazardous process and all it entailed.

Cara closed her eyes when she started seeing skin appearing, gripped her blaster tightly in her right hand, and held back the child with her left. He was wriggling and cooing loudly, but there was _no way_ she’d release him.

She heard someone starting to take deep breaths in, groans of pain, gasps, then a thud. The carbonite had released him.

“Mando?” she said, her voice not as loud as she wanted it, but refusing to say his name, just in case. “Is that you? Can you talk?”

“Ca…Cara?” a deep and gravelly voice replied. “Where are you?”

She exhaled harshly and almost opened her eyes in relief. This was his voice. She’d recognize it anywhere, even unmodulated.

“We’re in the Razor Crest, you’re safe. The kid is here with me,” she answered in a rush.

“I can’t… I can’t see,” he admitted.

“It’s okay, it’s normal, you were in carbonite. Do you remember what happened?” she pressed.

“I was… I was, yeah, I remember,” he mumbled, his teeth chattering from the cold he started experiencing again.

“I’ll get you a blanket, you must be feeling awful…”

No replies expect for his loud respiration and the occasional wince of pain.

“Listen, Din…” she started again, allowing herself to use his name, now, the child moving like crazy against her. “My eyes are closed, and your helmet should be directly on your left. I found the three Rodians and they’re dead, I killed them. No one… no one alive has seen your face, except the kid, but I assumed it was fine.”

Nothing for a long time.

“Yes, it’s fine,” he eventually gulped. “Where’s the kid? Can I s… Can I hold him?”

“He’s in my arms, and if I release him he’ll run straight to you, is that okay?” she replied, trying not to focus on the fact that he hadn’t said anything about the helmet.

“Sure, yes.”

Cara let go of both kid and blaster, and sure enough, there was soon a sharply drawn breath as the child connected with the Mandalorian. She remembered the blood she had found next to the berth earlier, and wondered if he was hurt. But she wouldn’t be opening her eyes until he had his helmet back on.

“Are you in any pain?” she asked, covering the boy’s definitely happier sounding notes.

“Just a bit…dizzy, and I still can’t see anything,” he replied.

“No, I meant did the Rodians hurt you? Before? There was some blood on the floor.”

“I’m fine,” he said, in a dismissive tone she was very familiar with. _He wasn’t fine._

“Can you put your helmet back on so I can make sure? You have a history of not being very truthful about that,” Cara deadpanned. Maybe sarcasm would work better.

“ _Nayc, ad’ika_ ,” she heard him whisper to the kid in Mando’a. “I can’t.”

Cara held her breath, wondering who that last part had been meant for, and said nothing. The boy whined then grew quiet again. She was getting tired of keeping her eyes closed and turned her back on them instead, staring at the crates on the opposite wall.

“I’m looking the other way,” she announced, hoping Din would finally say something she could work with. This waiting game was killing her and she had never been a patient person.

“Still can’t see anything?” she asked when nothing more was forthcoming.

“No, it’s all a big blur,” he confirmed, sighing.

“Ironical, really,” Cara couldn’t help but utter.

“Yeah,” Din agreed, before she had time to curse herself for her own stupidity. Well, at least he hadn’t lost his sense of humor. Even if it was patchy to begin with.

“What happened with the Rodians? What did they want? And why were you encased in carbonite?” she queried, giving up. Maybe she could try wearing him down. Maybe he’d get so fed up with her questions after a while that he’d put his helmet on again. There was probably a noise cancelling option in there. God knew he often stared vacantly at her like he was currently using it behind his visor when she was talking too much.

“Where are we, still on Gerex 5?” he asked, and Cara tried not to grumble that he was answering her questions with another question.

“Yes,” she replied simply. Then waited. Sighed. Apparently loudly enough because Din eventually spoke again.

“The Twi’lek I was hunting had a tip for me. Tried to buy his way out. Said he knew about me. About the kid. That there was a price on his head and that I’d be able to learn more about it on this planet,” he eventually started telling her, his words coming out in short bursts.

“The Twi’lek in the carbonite block?” she confirmed.

“That’s right.”

“So you got his tip _and_ his skin,” Cara praised.

“Or maybe it was a trap all along,” Din conceded.

“How so?”

“It was almost like the Rodians were already waiting for us when we landed.”

“Why didn’t you scan for life forms before opening the ramp?”

“The kid opened the ramp,” he admitted. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have taught him that. The Rodian hunters probably saw me landing, the tracking fob activated, and they patiently waited to see if I would be stupid enough to come out.”

As if he knew he was the subject of their conversation, the child emitted a mournful wail, and Cara heard Din mumble something back in Mando’a.

“If it’s any consolation, I think he learned his lesson. He waited until I knocked before lowering the ramp in Nevarro.”

Silence again and Cara tried not to snap. It was reassuring in a way that he could still play with her nerves even when she couldn’t see him.

“And then what? Did you learn who they were working for?” she eventually urged – it was like pulling teeth. She understood that a professional bounty hunter like him, a _Mandalorian_ , didn’t particularly appreciate recounting one of his failures, but still. They needed to move on from this, and get back to the helmet situation.

“I think the Hutts,” he replied.

“Shit, that’s bad…” she blurted out – she hadn’t expected that answer. “So you think Gideon went to them?”

“It’s his next best bet after the guild. And since that’s now out of the question…”

“Over my dead body,” Cara confirmed.

“So anyway, they took me by surprise, we were about to settle in for the night. I wanted to investigate the Twi’lek’s tip the next day, and I only got the kid to hide before they were inside. No blaster. No armor. I had to think quickly. I did try to fight them off, but I was worried about the boy.”

“You were hurt,” she tried again.

“I’m _fine_ , _”_ he repeated, and once again she didn’t believe him. “But I had one advantage.”

“What?”

“They weren’t the smartest of Rodians.”

“Have you ever _met_ smart Rodians?”

“Some are more cunning than others,” he granted, and Cara grumbled in reply.

“They knew as much about the asset as I did at first,” Din continued.

“Which was what?”

“Just his age.”

“Fifty-years old,” she remembered.

“Yes.”

“So wait… They thought the asset was _you_?” Cara tried to understand.

“The tracking fob was beeping, that was enough for them. But they still needed to check.”

She heard him take a deep breath in and Cara knew what was coming.

“I removed my helmet. It was that or they would start searching the rest of the ship. And I _knew_ they would find the kid.”

“ _You_ removed your helmet?” Cara repeated, astonished. She had expected him to have fought tooth and nails until it was taken off by force. Never that.

“It was…my decision,” he replied, his tone unreadable. “I needed to protect the child.”

Maybe the fact that he had _chosen_ to remove his helmet would work in her favor. Maybe it would mean something in the long run. Surely his creed had loopholes for that kind of impossible choices.

“They said I looked a bit young for fifty but they seemed to buy it,” Din continued, unprompted, for once.

“Are _you_ fifty?”

“No,” he quickly replied, affronted, and Cara tried not to smile.

“Well, how could I know? I’ve never _seen_ you,” she reminded him, hoping this as well would help her case.

“Do I behave or fight like a fifty year old? Like a _human_ fifty year old, I mean?” he went on.

 _Man_ , who knew he’d be so touchy about his age? It was _so_ difficult to resist teasing him some more, but they had to get back on track. It felt good to be able to laugh about things, in any case. Even if _she_ was the one doing the laughing. Silently.

“And was the carbonite your idea too?” she asked, and she thought she heard him grumble at her lack of answer to his previous questions. _Welcome to the club_.

“I convinced them to do it, yes. Telling them that would be the easiest way to carry me off and bring me to the Hutts. As I said, they weren’t the brightest.”

“But _why_? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just surrender? And less risky?”

“It wasn’t _that_ risky,” he countered.

“Are you still blind?” she pressed.

“Not completely blind…” he moderated.

“Dizzy? Exhausted? Confused?” Cara listed.

“I know what hibernation sickness entails,” he grumbled. “But I realized it would probably trigger one of my security protocols.”

“The one that flew the ship directly to Nevarro?”

“Yeah, I programmed the Razor Crest so that it would fly the kid to safety if I was ever incapacitated.”

“Incapacitated how?” she wondered, knowing the answer.

“If my heart stopped.”

 _Right_.

“There was a good chance the Rodians wanted the ship as well, and everything in it. Carbonite seemed like a good compromise.”

“Better than a shot of blaster between the eyes, that’s for sure…” Cara confirmed sarcastically.

“I assumed it would slow down my heart enough for the ship to think me dead, yeah. The protocol only works if I’m no longer inside as well.”

“Why?” Cara replied, frowning – he was losing her and that conversation had _completely_ escaped her.

“I wouldn’t want the ship to fly back to Nevarro with the kid and whoever killed me still inside.”

“And your dead body,” she reminded him.

“And my dead body,” he agreed. “Good chance that if I’m dying _outside_ the ship, whoever killed me would also be there.”

“How’s that insomnia going?” Cara asked after a few seconds of silence, and she was pretty sure Din chuckled slightly, the sound unfamiliar. She was still trying to understand how his _stupid_ mind worked. And this was _clearly_ the result of lack of sleep. And parental anxiety. He was taking baby-proofing his ship to a whole new level. A very morbid one. But hey, he was a Mandalorian after all.

She recounted the rest of the story: the Razor Crest landing in Nevarro, her discovering the kid and his armor, checking the logs, landing on Gerex 5, finding the Rodians and the blocks, the tracking fob activating, and the boy eventually being the one showing her where he’d been this whole time.

“So you killed the Rodians? And they only had time to steal the other targets from the ship before it flew away?” he asked.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I killed them with your disintegrating bullets. Weirdly satisfying.”

“I know, right?”

Cara sighed. They’d gone straight back to the start. The Rodians were dead. They were the only ones who had seen his face apart from the kid, and he’d said it was fine.

“Din…”

“I can’t, Cara,” he cut in, his voice softer than usual. “I can’t put the helmet back on.”

Cara swallowed hard, surprised at the tears that had somehow sprung to her eyes at those dreaded words. Even if she had known he would say them. Even if she had been ready for them. Or _thought_ she was.

“But…”

“That’s just the way it is,” he interrupted her again. “And it’s _fine_. Really, it’s fine. It was my decision, and I protected my charge. It was the _right_ thing to do. The _only_ thing to do.”

This time, she was the one who didn’t know what to say. And didn’t reply for a long while.

“So what’s gonna happen now?” she eventually managed to ask.

“I’ll just…” and for all his pretenses that everything was _fine_ , she could hear how much of a struggle it was for him, too. “I’ll take the kid to the covert. The armorer sent me the coordinates of the new location. He’ll be protected from the Hutts, there. And someone else will start looking for his kind again once it’s safe.”

“Someone _else_?” Cara frowned. Surely, she wasn’t hearing this right.

“It’s… It can’t be me, anymore,” Din tried to explain.

“You’re no longer a _Mandalorian_?” she seethed. “Because you removed your helmet? To protect your own _child_?”

“This is the…”

“Don’t you _fucking_ say it, Mando,” she growled, spitting the name at him like an insult. That was his _creed_? To abandon his own kid?

“I can’t protect him anymore, but he has to remain in the tribe. That’s the best _way_.”

“No, it isn’t, you’re wrong,” she told him. “What, you’re just gonna roll over and die? Let someone else take care of your kid?” Cara tried to rile him up. Unsuccessfully, apparently, as she only heard him sigh.

She was getting _extremely_ _tired_ of having to stare at crates. He deserved a few good kicks in the backside but he wouldn’t allow her the pleasure, because the idiot wouldn’t put his _frigging_ helmet back on. The _nerve_ of him.

“After everything you’ve both been through? You’re just going to _give him up?”_

“He’ll be with the Mandalorians, with my tribe, he’ll be safe.”

“Do you actually believe the _bullshit_ you’re saying or is that just for me?”

“Cara…”

“No, I’m serious, _Mando_. I’m really serious. You’re telling me this _creed_ you live by doesn’t allow you to keep your kid? I thought Mandalorians prized their children above everything else?”

“Cara, _stop_ ,” he implored her. And she could hear the agony in his voice. _Good_. Let him feel it. Let him realize how _stupid_ this all was.

But then the boy started sobbing. Softly at first. Then more and more piercingly. The cries actually eliciting pain inside her. It was fear and heartache all rolled into one awful emotion. And Cara felt horrible. Because she knew the child was somehow tapping into other people’s minds and spirits, and he had _felt_ whatever Din was about to do. _Abandoning him._

“Cara, look at me,” he asked, his voice breaking.

“No,” she replied firmly.

“Cara, _please_ look at me,” he repeated, and she closed her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

“Cara, I…”

And then she heard a commotion. Something rolling on the floor, a stumble and a curse. Had the _idiot_ tried to stand up? He was blind!

“Din?”

A grunt of pain and a thud.

“I swear to God if you’re doing this on purpose for me to look at you…” she announced, her teeth set.

“Cara…” he mumbled, his breath coming in short gasps. The kid crying even louder, now.

Shit.

 _Shit_.

How _fucking_ typical. Cara swore and turned around, tempted to just _let him die_ , but thinking of the child, who was already going through enough because of his _dumb_ father. She automatically didn’t linger on his face – dark hair and pale skin – but saw that he was holding his side, half slumped against the wall of the ship.

“You _were_ hurt !” she complained, rushing to him. “You idiot, why didn’t you say?”

“I just…remembered when I tried standing up,” he gasped when she removed his hand to see the damage.

“A blaster shot. And you _just_ remembered,” Cara replied in disbelief.

“It didn’t hurt as much when I got out of the carbonite,” he elaborated with difficulty. “And I…couldn’t see. Still can’t see.”

“And you tried to _stand up_ ,” she pointed out. “Even though you’re losing blood.”

The shot had burned through his several layers, and she could see the red liquid pouring out slowly. The carbonite had probably slowed the injury, but obviously not treated it.

“The Rodians?” she asked to make sure, and the dark head nodded. She still wouldn’t look at him closely.

“Don’t let…don’t let the little one try to heal me,” he asked.

Said little one was standing next to his leg, his ears completely drooped and his big eyes full of tears.

“I think he’s still too angry at you to do that, and with good reasons,” she told him. He sank harder against the metal, and she felt a bit guilty about the lie – the kid would help him in a heartbeat, she was sure – but only a _little_ bit. He’d deserved it.

“Let me get a med kit,” Cara grumbled, standing up.

“They’re…”

“I know where they are,” she interrupted, trying – and failing – to sound less bitter. That had been a low blow, using an injury to make her look at him. Cara knew she was being stubborn – part of her had always known it would come to this, but she _hated_ losing. And that felt like a loss to her. Still, it wouldn’t do to let him die out of spite, as tempting as it was. And she had more than one trick up her sleeve – that helmet was coming back on. Din’s only decision in the matter would be if it came back on with force or not.

When she rejoined them, the kid was now holding his father’s leg, but his ears still hadn’t come up. Din had laid a hand over his back, probably in an effort to prevent him from climbing on him. He jumped about a foot high when she reached his side again, which told her he still couldn’t see much. And that despite his assurance that it was _fine_ for her to see him now, it would still take him a while to get used to the idea. The same thing happened when she started to remove his flak jacket and the first layer of his fire retardant suit underneath.

“I need to access the wound,” she explained, when he kept on drawing back. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, it’s…” he tried to say, then stopped. But Cara understood very well, and allowed herself a quick look towards his face. His eyes – brown, she noted – were unfocussed in their almost blindness and yet it was impossible to miss the fear in them. Din was _terrified._ And unused to have to try to hide it.

“Silly really…” she started again in a cheerier tone, forcing herself to make light of the situation to help him feel better. “Just a minute ago you were _begging me_ to look at you and now you won’t even let me take your clothes off. You’re sending really mixed signals here, buddy.”

He smiled slightly – a nice smile – and relaxed a bit. Cara went back to her task and managed to remove a couple more layers.

“Honestly, how many more?” she asked in a huff after the third one. It was a struggle each time to slip the garment over his head with his injury or push it enough to access the next one. “Are all Mandalorians sensitive to the cold or something? This dedication not to show skin is _ridiculous_.”

“It’s for protection,” he explained sluggishly, and Cara resisted asking him if physical assaults was the only thing he was worried about.

She was perspiring by the time his skin was finally revealed, and Din had become paler, his winces replaced by passive compliance any time she touched him. Cara didn’t need to be familiar with his face to understand that he was in pain. Which made sense – the wound looked angry and probably infected. Note to self: don’t get in carbonite with an untreated bloody injury.

Cara didn’t linger on the other scars she found as she didn’t look much different herself. Still, she noted that the newer looking ones were limited to where the beskar didn’t cover him – his collarbone, mid arms and sides – but that he either hadn’t always been wearing such protective armor, or that there hadn’t been any at all for a while when he was young. Not for the first time, she wondered what the Fighting Corps were like on Mandalore, and shuddered.

She warned him before applying the bacta patch but he still gritted his teeth and groaned in pain.

“You really should have let me know earlier about your wound, you idiot,” she admonished, the harshness of her tone offset by her hand gripping his in sympathy. He gripped back, and for a second she wondered if his sight had returned, because it felt like he was looking straight at her.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, and she hoped his apology also covered the helmet debacle. Given how rare the words were from him, she assumed that it was the case.

“Pain meds?” she asked, and he nodded. “How many?”

“One?” he replied, unsure. She would have taken four herself, so she handed him two, which he dry swallowed.

“I’m putting a blanket over your shoulders,” she announced to avoid another flinch. “The bacta should take a few hours to work. You’ll probably need a second one, that wound was bad.”

“Now I’m glad I listened to you when you told me to stack up.”

“You were tragically lacking some pretty basic stuff,” she replied, standing up. Din wrapped himself in the blanket and finally let the kid climb on his chest. The little one avoided the site of his injury, and burrowed against him.

“Are you okay on the floor or do you want me to help you move to the berth?”

“I’m okay,” he replied, and it looked like the pain relievers were starting to work.

“I should fly us somewhere else, unless you have anything more to do here on Gerex 5?”

He shook his head and Cara smiled – she was still trying not to look at him too closely, which was silly, she knew, but the man badly needed a haircut. She’d tease him about it when he was better.

“I’ll find somewhere safe to land. Nowhere too bright, though – you need to get your sight back. I’ll warn you before we hit hyperspace.”

He nodded again, and Cara could tell he’d soon be out of it – she’d given him strong meds. Hopefully, the boy would follow the same example, and that would give her enough time to think. They could have stayed in space until he was completely healed, it was certainly dark enough, but she had an idea. Somewhere relatively close by she was familiar with, and where she could figure out their next step. Din would need to do quite a bit of soul searching and she wouldn’t take off again until he had made the right decision. The _only_ decision.

Cara had been on that particular planet a couple of times. She had been in a pretty bad place then, and the planet had been a refuge. A place to mourn in peace. Time had no meaning there, and she had never been quite sure how long she had actually stayed.

They would stay as long as it took.

The journey still required several hours, but when she checked back on the Crest’s other two occupants once the course had been set, she found them both deeply asleep. She was tempted for about a second to discreetly put the helmet back on Din’s head – it was so disconcerting to actually see his face, and he looked younger than she cared to admit when unconscious – but that would have been petty. And unhelpful in the end: it wouldn’t resolve the larger issue at stake.

_What did it mean to be a Mandalorian._

Because Cara was smart enough to realize that was _it_. The crux of the matter. And that a great deal of Din’s inner struggle at the moment didn’t come from the fact that he _was_ a Mandalorian, but that he hadn’t _always_ been one. Sure, Mandalorian wasn’t a race. And the fact that he wasn’t born on Mandalore didn’t matter. But it made sense that he would choose to follow his creed to the letter. Because what else did he have? He was an outsider. A _foundling_. And even if he’d never been made to feel inferior – for all their greatness, some ‘true born’ Mando kids had probably been cruel to him at some point – he had probably always felt the need to prove himself. To be better. To be _more_ Mandalorian than any other Mandalorian. To the point of fanaticism. His religion had saved his life, this she didn’t doubt for a second and respected it – but it had also become his prison.

Cara sighed. Much of these thoughts she’d never say to his face. And she felt slightly ashamed for thinking them. Still, she hoped Din would find the strength to face some of his doubts during their forced exile in darkness.

Knowing it was safe to do so since they still had a few hours until they exited hyperspace, she went back to the cockpit and settled in for some rest. And to think that she’d been bored this morning, she remembered, as she closed her eyes…

* * *

The incessant beep warning her of the proximity of their destination woke her. Cara was surprised to have slept for so long, but it seemed that apart from the irritating warning from the ship, the Razor Crest was still quiet. She disabled the autopilot when the planet became visible, but decided to orbit rather than land just yet – Cara wanted to check on Din’s injury first.

She found him and his kid much in the same position as before, but they were awake. He was handing the boy small bites from a ration bar. Thinking that his sight had returned, she didn’t announce her presence loudly, but his vague look in her direction told her he wasn’t there quite yet.

“Still can’t see?” she checked.

“Forms and shadows,” he replied. “So getting better, I guess.”

“Enough to feed the little one, though. He wouldn’t eat anything when he was with me,” she complained.

Din made a non-committal sound at that. Cara still needed to tell him about how distressed the child had been when she found him, all alone in his ship. His security protocols might be all the rage in Mando parenting, but they didn’t take everything into consideration. Things like _feelings_.

“Did you eat?” she pressed.

“A little,” he confirmed. So probably half a ration bar, then.

“You’ll heal better if you eat properly.”

“I know,” he grumbled, which told her she’d probably have to cook or heat up something at one point in the near future.

“How’s your wound?” she asked, changing the subject and coming closer, slowly.

He removed the blanket from his shoulders and she could see that the bacta patch was starting to peel off – she was going to have to replace it, as she’d expected.

“Looks like the bacta stopped working, but you need a new one, there’s still some blood.”

“We haven’t landed yet, where are we?” he queried, his turn changing the subject.

“Orbiting our destination, we’ll land once your patch is changed,” she replied quickly, reaching for the med kit again. “Do you want to remove it or shall I?”

“How does it look?” he asked.

“Not great,” she admitted. “It’s probably going to hurt a bit.”

“Better remove it quick, then.”

“You know the drill.”

“Do it, I don’t want to go through the process twice if I can help it,” he eventually replied after hesitating for a while.

Cara sighed, nodding, and placed a hand on his shoulder for balance. He flinched, and she cursed herself for not having warned him in advance.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, as the child cooed sadly next to her. What a mess, she thought as she tried coming up with something to say. She gripped his shoulder harder, getting ready to remove the patch in one go, and smiled – she had it.

“By the way, if that makes you feel any better, you don’t look a day over 45,” Cara announced, ripping out the bandage cleanly off. Din barked a pained and loud laugh, and let her apply the new patch without further complaint.

“That was low,” he grumbled afterwards, “but deserved I think.”

“It was,” she agreed.

“I’m gonna use the fresher and change before we land. Then maybe you can tell me where we are,” he announced, slowly standing up.

“You sure this is a good idea?” she wondered.

“I can see a bit better, I’ll be fine,” he confirmed, using the wall to make his way towards the front of the ship. He wasn’t wobbly, that was good. And he didn’t bump into anything, even better.

“For the love of all the stars in the universe though, don’t attempt to shave, please. We don’t have enough bacta,” she told him before the automatic door closed – unsurprisingly, he didn’t reply.

“Your father is being rude,” Cara told the kid, picking him up. He cooed in reply, and she pretended he was agreeing with her.

“You look more rested though, that’s good. But let’s see if we can find something better for breakfast.”

At this, the little one definitely perked up – if his appetite was back, then maybe all would be fine indeed.

Cara managed to find something edible to warm up, and she and the kid were in the process of eating when Din rejoined them. He hadn’t attempted to shave – thankfully – but he looked confused and uncertain. A fact that wasn’t helped by his unfocussed eyes. He’d put on a couple of layers – definitely more than required, but still a lot less than he was used to, and it showed. He managed to find a spot to sit without her help, but when she offered him food, he declined.

“You insisted I had to see you. Then now you can eat with us,” she proclaimed, her tone not entirely kind.

“Where’s my armor?” he asked instead, his arms crossed. A position that looked a lot fiercer when he was wearing the beskar, and now simply seemed defiant.

“In the cockpit, where you left it. I haven’t touched it.”

He nodded and Cara went back to her food, happy that she didn’t need to look at him any longer. She wondered if it would stop being weird at any point. But part of her hoped she’d never have to get used to it because he’d just _put his fucking helmet back on_.

“What are you going to do with it?” she eventually queried, curious how far his logic went.

“It should go to the covert. It can be melted and used to provide for foundlings or…”

“And the helmet?” she interrupted him.

“It…” But that was harder, she could tell. The helmet meant more to him. She was ready to bet he’d had it for a lot longer.

“We’re gonna land on Hestalpin soon, you ever been?” Cara cut in, taking pity on him. “You might know it under the name Midnight, instead. At least, that’s how we called it on Alderaan.”

Din shook his head, looking at his food but probably not seeing it.

“The planet is orbited by two moons, but the closest sun is too far to provide any kind of vegetation. There’s still an ocean, though. So it’s not completely dead yet. It used to have active volcanoes thousands of years ago but they’ve all gone quiet on the surface. So now it’s mostly just black sand, the ocean, and moonlight. There’s never any daylight, which is why we call it Midnight.” she explained.

“Sounds wonderful,” he deadpanned.

“Your eyes can heal, there. And it’s…peaceful. It was known on my planet as a retreat for poets. They would find inspiration there, and never be bothered.”

He grunted, but didn’t add anything else – he didn’t have much choice and he knew it, as there was no way he’d be able to fly the ship in his state.

Cara stood up, done with her food, and the child attempted to say her name. It sounded like ‘Cawa’, but it never failed to put a smile on her face.

“You want to come up with me and land the Crest?” she asked, seeing his little arms raise in her direction.

“Let’s go then,” she declared, the boy happily settling in her arms. “We’ll leave your dad to his breakfast. Maybe he’ll remember what to do with it soon.”

Cara turned her back on him before she had time to see if her words had triggered any reaction.

Unsurprisingly, scanning for life forms turned up a blank result – no one came to Midnight. It was a bleep on everyone’s radar and for good reason. And yet, when they were finally stationed, she was the first out.

It smelled just like she remembered it – a mix of sulfur and salt. The twin moons were close enough to the horizon to provide light, and the ocean churned on and on, unperturbed. It would all be gone in a century or so, she knew. The water receding day after day. But when she put her hands against the sand, she found it warm, still. The underground lava channels ever-shifting.

“Bah!” the boy said, his tiny feet digging in the black sand.

“I know, right?” she replied.

He didn’t seem to mind the semi-darkness, and waddled for a bit, his hands eventually joining in the fun in the sand.

He repeated the ‘bah’ sound then, louder and louder, until it turned into something else. Something she was sure she wasn’t hearing correctly, all the while looking towards the ship. Eventually, Din came out, alerted by the sound – the name? – and looked out. Well, more like _tried_ to look.

“Is he calling you…”

“Yes,” he interrupted her quickly.

The kid said the word again, and approached them, looking exceptionally pleased with himself and at the attention he was getting. He repeated it once more, latching on the Mandalorian’s boot.

“He’s saying Boo Boo,” Cara tried again.

“Yes, I know,” Din replied.

“And that’s you,” she confirmed, even though it seemed quite clear.

“Yes.”

“Boo Boo,” she said again with all the seriousness she could muster, because it was simply too much.

“He’s…trying to say ‘ _buir_ ’,” Din explained, his tone long suffering. “Father, in Mando’a.”

“Boo Boo!” the boy parried back, his ears standing almost straight on his head, looking happier than she had ever seen him.

“The ‘r’ is difficult to say, he _does_ call you ‘Cawa’,” he pointed out, clearly uncomfortable now.

“Cawa!” the child intoned, turning towards her, and she gave him her best smile, which earned her a giggle.

“Cawa is nowhere _near_ as bad as Boo Boo,” she countered.

“It…happens more often than you think, it’s fine,” Din eventually sighed, and it took her a while to realize what he meant.

“What, fierce armored Mandos followed around by toddlers yelling Boo Boo? That happens often in your tribe?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Mando’a isn’t an easy language to grasp.”

“And it wouldn’t have been easier to teach him ‘dada’ or ‘daddy’?”

“No,” Din replied simply.

The kid eventually went back to exploring the sand, emitting intermittent sounds of marvel anytime he discovered something new. Cara remained pensive, trying – and failing – to get the image of menacing Mandalorians being called ‘Boo Boo’ by tiny creatures from her mind.

“Just so you know, that’s going on my bucket list. I want to see this before I die,” she announced.

Din cocked his head to the side and exhaled audibly – something she had witnessed countless times before when he had still been wearing his helmet, and it made her sad, all of a sudden. It just wasn’t the same when she could see his face – it felt like cheating, somehow. She was seeing things she had never been supposed to see.

“Is that part of your role, teaching him your language?” she asked, her tone infinitely more serious than a minute ago.

“Someone else will be able to continue doing that,” he shrugged.

Cara bit her tongue, hard. There were a few choice words she wished to say to him in reply, but she’d already tried them. He needed more time, and she wasn’t going anywhere at the moment with her insults.

“That security protocol of yours,” she started again, observing how often the child would turn towards them to check they were still there. “It was to bring the child to Nevarro in case you died.”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“To me?” Cara asked, frowning, because she still had a hard time believing it.

“Sure, to you. I know you would have found the coordinates in the logs for the new location of our covert. I trust you would have known what to do,” he explained slowly.

“You would have _trusted_ me,” she rephrased, her heart beating hard against her chest. “Trusted _me_ with your kid’s life.”

“Of course,” Din replied effortlessly, as if the words hadn’t just shattered part of her universe.

“And what if I hadn’t found the coordinates to reach your tribe? What if I had decided to keep your boy and raise him as my own, like you wished Omera would have been able to do on Sorgan?”

The name was still one he had difficulty hearing, and it was even more apparent without the helmet to hide his features. He gulped, and took his time answering.

“That would have been fine, too,” he eventually said, and she didn’t believe he was lying.

“Then why…” she started again, and chose her words carefully. “Why won’t you keep him now? You didn’t _die_ , you did nothing wrong except doing your best to protect him. If _I’m_ good enough for him, then why aren’t you?”

“Cara…”

“You say you _trust_ me,” she interrupted him. “Then why can’t you trust me when I tell you you’re making a mistake?”

“I don’t know how I can explain this to you,” he sighed.

“ _Try_ ,” Cara urged him.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll try. Just…give me time.”

And with that, he started slowly walking towards the shore. She assumed the twin moons were bright enough to light his blurry way, as he eventually sat down on the warm sand, his eyes fixed on a horizon that was invisible even to her.


	4. Chapter 4

Din had been sitting there for hours.

True, Cara was aware time was pretty much meaningless on a planet that was always shrouded in darkness, but still. Wasn’t he hungry? Tired? In pain? He hadn’t moved an inch, sitting cross legged on the sand. She was trying to give him all the space he needed, but this was starting to feel more like forced exile than anything else. She itched to go to him, although she could tell that the little one in her arms yearned for the Mandalorian’s presence more than her – and rightly so.

He had played for a bit, then ate again and Cara had been able to put him down for a couple of hours of rest. Now that she knew how much he _absorbed_ other people’s emotions, she had focused her thoughts on pleasant memories and warmth, and it had done the trick to get him to sleep. But nothing was working now – the kid wanted to be let down and go to his father _right now_. Cara eventually relented, but instead of waddling to the shore, he went back inside the ship, first. And came back out dragging the beskar helmet.

She would have laughed if the vision wasn’t so depressing. Because who knew exactly what the child understood of the situation? As always, probably more than he let on, which meant that there was a real possibility he was aware that if his dad didn’t put his helmet back on, they’d have to live the rest of their lives apart.

“You go get him, little one,” Cara told him as he toddled past her. It would be a struggle to cover the distance on the sand, but the kid was stubborn and she could tell this was something he _needed_ to do on his own. And he had powers she didn’t understand if he ever grew tired, after all.

Cara sighed and observed them interact once the child had reached Din’s side. He didn’t put the helmet on – big surprise – but he didn’t discard it either. She hoped that was a good sign. Feeling like she was intruding after a while, she went back inside the Crest. She wasn’t hungry, but forced herself to eat – it was around dinner time in Nevarro. She grabbed food for the Mandalorian – he hadn’t had anything for who knew how long, as he hadn’t touched his breakfast – and decided to join the duo outside.

The boy was now sleeping in his father’s arms, but she could still see tear tracks on his round little face – he hadn’t gone down quietly or easily. And there had probably been some sort of drama she didn’t really want to know about.

“Hey,” Cara announced herself before sitting down, but Din had raised his head towards her when she approached.

“How’s your sight?” she asked quietly, although she knew from experience now that once the little one was asleep, nothing could wake him again until he was good and ready.

“Difficult to say,” he replied, shrugging. “Better, I think. The moons are a little more defined than they were when we arrived.”

“I brought you some food,” Cara offered, laying the plate next to him. “You should eat.”

Din looked at the simple sandwich – progress – but made no attempt to reach for it. She tried to convince herself that the fact that he still wouldn’t eat in other people’s presence was a good sign, and not another symptom of his current mood. Cara also noted that his right hand was busy holding the baby against him, but his left rested against his helmet.

“Feeling anymore pain?”

“No, that second patch seems to have done the trick,” Din confirmed.

Now that she was done with the obvious questions, Cara was at a loss. Expecting the Mandalorian to speak first was about as likely as her quitting booze: sad, and not recommended in the current situation.

“That helmet…” she started, before she was quickly interrupted by a tired sigh. “No, I just want you to tell me about it,” she added placatingly. “It’s… I got the feeling earlier that it wasn’t the same as the rest of your armor. Right?”

For once, Cara allowed herself to watch the play of emotions on his face – the moonlight didn’t allow for much to come through, but it was enough to tell her his inner struggle was painful. There was sadness there and a great deal of doubt.

“The helmet belonged to my _buir_ ,” he answered, looking down at the beskar at his feet. “It was handed down to me when he died. I was almost old enough to come of age, so I was allowed to wear it. It was a great gift.”

“But a great reminder, too,” she completed.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his eyes never leaving the T-visor.

“When was that?” Cara asked, “This coming of age and your father’s death?”

“You are normally sworn to the creed when you become an adult, at 13. I was 12 then, but special circumstances meant I was allowed to do it earlier.” Cara hoped he couldn’t see how wide her eyes had become. “My _buir_ died shortly after the Siege of Mandalore around the same time.”

Well, that conversation had definitely taken a happy turn. But then, she’d asked for it. And she guessed the ‘special circumstances’ was the Siege itself. They’d sent _children_ fighting. Cara shuddered.

“Twelve or thirteen, that’s…awfully young,” she couldn’t help saying, but Din only shrugged. “I mean, even the Empire didn’t recruit soldiers so young.” The joke fell flat, as any mention of the Empire was leading them straight back to the Battle of Mandalore again.

“The Fighting Corps, we…didn’t focus much on the politics, that wasn’t really our prerogative. None of it made much sense to me anyway, and I was okay with following my _buir_. I had trained under him for three years already. At the time, our role was protecting the civilians.”

Cara was surprised that he was offering her so much, but then it made sense that he would revisit his past at a time like this, when he’d decided to question his very existence. She didn’t try to stop him, in any case. This was too important.

“We were some of the last to leave when the planet plunged into chaos. So few survived, and many died from their wounds anyway, like my _buir_. We simply didn’t have the resources or the equipment, anymore. I know many other tribes managed to escape before it got too bad, and some decided to stay, but for us…”

She had heard stories about the Siege. So much was already happening at the time and she had only been a young girl…but her elder brothers had endlessly talked about the fall of the Republic even then, to their parents’ growing dismay.

“There were no clans, anymore. Not for a while. It made no sense when we had been so decimated. It took a long time for families to be formed again. Children being born or adopted.”

Cara wondered if, as an almost 13 year old, twice orphaned, he had been adopted again. She certainly hoped so. But listening to him, it was clear that his childhood had ended there. She also remembered the pile of helmets in the Nevarro sewers and his reaction then. Unsurprisingly, Din remembered it too.

“And now here we are again,” he sighed. “I know enough managed to escape Nevarro and a safe place was found for the covert but… It feels like nothing ever truly changes. Galactic Republic, Empire, New Republic… Mandos _survive_ , they don’t really _exist_.”

Din brushed the top of his helmet with this hand one last time, then hugged the still sleeping child against his chest a little tighter.

“That’s why… That’s why my creed is so important to me, do you see? We were some of the last survivors of Mandalore before it fell under the command of the Empire. We had to live through example. For all the ones who didn’t make it. We were the keepers of the faith.”

Cara smiled sadly – she had absolutely nothing to say. What could she hope to add to this? How could she possibly express anything in contradiction to what he had confided to her? Because it had certainly felt more like a confession than a justification. This wasn’t something he would share with anyone, and now wasn’t the time to challenge him – she didn’t have the right arguments. She could only see in her mind’s eye the scared boy who had been forced to grow up too fast.

“I understand,” she replied – and she did. That wasn’t a lie. She understood a lot more than she was willing to tell him right now. “Come and rest,” she added. “You look exhausted.”

That wasn’t something she would have easily seen if he had still been wearing his helmet, but it was obvious at the moment – the stooped posture, heavy eyes and lined brow. Din nodded but didn’t move and she sighed, standing up.

“Let me put the little one to bed at least,” she asked, holding out her arms. He must have been able to see her enough, because he placed the small bundle against her with no trouble. The child didn’t stir.

Cara slowly walked back to the ship, her mind revisiting all that she had just heard. It would take a while to process, and she hoped she’d also be able to find rest, but doubted it. She placed the boy in his cradle, made sure he was warm enough, then went back to the ramp to look outside.

Din was holding the helmet in both his hands now, his forehead reverently pressed to the visor as if in prayer. He remained in the same position for long minutes, and Cara eventually turned around, with the disagreeable feeling that she was witnessing something private.

* * *

Cara didn’t sleep much – she’d gone to the cockpit again, and sat in the pilot seat. She could usually sleep anywhere and the padding was actually comfortable, but anytime she closed her eyes, she pictured panic and explosions. That was easy – her own memories were full of them. No need to remember Din’s account for that, although it clearly hadn’t helped. Keeping her eyes opened wasn’t any better, as she’d be welcomed by the sight of the Mandalorian’s armor, perfectly laid out, right next to her.

She’d heard said Mandalorian coming back to the ship at one point, and closing the ramp. Then no other sound for a long while – she hoped it meant he was sleeping.

When her internal clock told her it was sometime around morning – looking outside wasn’t helpful on Midnight – she stood up, stretched, and tried to ignore the mudhorn signet. That thing was mocking her. And reminding her that she still hadn’t made any progress. Groaning internally, but hardening her resolve for what lay ahead, she went below.

She found the other two occupants of the Crest awake and…apparently playing a game, although one of them was clearly having more fun than the other.

“ _Ad’ika_ , come on, let’s play hide and seek some other time,” Din sighed, looking around unsuccessfully.

Way to go, little one, thought Cara. Playing hide and seek with your dad when he was half-blind was taking aggravation to a whole new level. She couldn’t help but approve and laugh discreetly.

“Morning,” she announced. “Or whatever this is…”

“Cawa!” piped a small voice from behind the crates, and the boy reappeared.

Din grumbled and turned towards her. His hair was even more of a mess than usual, so she assumed he had been sleeping at one point.

“Vision any better?” she asked, although she thought she had her answer already.

“Yeah, it is, we should be able to leave today,” he announced.

“Oh yeah?” she replied, nonplused. “Catch, then.”

She threw the first thing her hand grabbed – a torch – and it clattered to the floor. Din had made _some_ movement to catch it, but that was still a miss.

“That’s what I thought. I’m not letting you fly this ship, or cook breakfast for that matter,” Cara added, checking the provisions.

“You took me by surprise,” he complained. “And I _can_ cook something.”

“I want something better than ration bars and dried fruits, so no, you can’t, unless you want to burn down the Crest.”

The boy waddled towards her at the mention of food and she smiled. At least one of them appreciated her efforts.

“But don’t get used to this. As soon as you’re able to see, I’m done doing the cooking for you, this is beneath me,” Cara added.

They all sat down to eat, and she only teased the Mandalorian over his improper use of a fork once.

The kid apparently hadn’t tired of the sand yet, and was happy to frolic outside in the almost darkness. Din and Cara sat on top of the ramp and observed him, as he would often request validation, emitting playful ‘Ah!’ sounds or calling out for his father with his definitely-not-funny-and-very-serious ‘Boo Boo’.

“It got me thinking, what you told me last night,” she managed to say after a while. “Well, a few hours ago. Whatever.”

Din didn’t say anything, so she assumed he was fine with her carrying on.

“It reminded me of when Alderaan was destroyed. I wasn’t there, obviously, and my two older brothers had already died in the war by then, but I lost everybody else. My parents, my two younger brothers, all my family, really,” she relayed easily. This was just a fact of life, now. She had made peace with it.

“Four brothers,” he marveled. “That kind of explains a lot.”

She smiled genuinely and remained pensive, remembering happier times growing up.

“But what I meant was… There were no survivors. It all happened in a second and I don’t believe they suffered. I mean sure, I sometimes bump into Alderaanians who’d been off-world at the time, but it’s rare.”

Those awkward meetings were thankfully few and far between – she never knew what to say.

“But I never really had to live with it all. With this _pain_ or this _guilt_ or whatever. And I never had to hide who I was for fear of retribution. Well, not for _that_ at least.”

Maybe that was another reason why his tribe never removed their helmets, she thought. So that they wouldn’t have to look in each other’s eyes. See the loss, there. The mourning. The agony of having survived when others hadn’t. She couldn’t imagine what it had been like for Din, who lost everything _twice_. But the wish to hide one's face and carry on with life was a valid one. A _human_ one. Especially for people like Mandalorians.

“I’ve been to Alderaan once, long ago,” he spoke up. “It seemed like a nice place to grow up on.”

“It was,” she agreed, glad that he had left it at that.

“I haven’t been back to Mandalore. Or to my home planet, although there’s not much of it left either. But it’s not really _places_ you miss.”

“Yeah, it’s the people,” she confirmed. “I don’t think I would want to visit Alderaan if my family wasn’t there anymore. It wouldn’t make sense.”

They stayed silent then, and watched the boy instead. He was running around happily, building little sand dunes then crushing them with his fists. After a while, he eventually sat down heavily and looked in their direction, lowering his ears. The ‘Boo Boo’ was decidedly a dejected one this time, but Din seemed to recognize it for what it was, and stood up slowly. He apparently could see enough, as he picked up the kid expertly and hugged him to his chest.

“I’ll put him down for a nap,” he announced in passing and Cara nodded, refraining from asking him if he needed any help – he had this, clearly, which made everything that much harder.

Din rejoined her shortly after and sat back down. She knew what she wanted to say – _needed_ to say – but it didn’t make it any easier.

“So what’s your plan, then? Once you take the boy to your covert and hand over your helmet and armor?”

He visibly tensed up, his shoulders rising, and Cara prepared herself for a telling off, but it never came. Time for a second round of ammo, then.

“Are you thinking of going back to Sorgan? I’m sure they’ll welcome you back with open arms, and you’ll have nothing stopping you from staying, this time. No bounty on the kid’s head, no…”

“I could _never_ do that,” Din interrupted her, offended.

“Sure you could. Trust me, Omera would…”

“I’d never be able to look her in the eyes after this. After breaking my oath,” he cut in again.

“I mean if a woman as beautiful as her had ever looked at me the way _she_ looked at you…” Cara continued unperturbed. “I’d be learning all about krill farming in a heartbeat.”

“There’s no way I can face her again. I’m not…worthy anymore,” he tried to explain. Badly, because she pounced hard for the kill.

“Not worthy? Why, because you’re not wearing your armor and your helmet anymore? You’ve become _less_ of a man somehow?” she pressed, turning towards him.

“I’m…”

“Get up,” she interrupted him, standing. “Get up and fight me. If you’ve suddenly become nothing without your beskar, then that should be an easy win, and you owe me for that arm wrestling match.”

“Cara, what are you doing?” he asked, clearly at a loss.

“Come on, stand up, Mando! Or are you suddenly capable of refusing a fight? Are you just an armor and no spirit?” she taunted him, and she could tell his resolve was wavering.

“I still can’t see well, you’re gonna crush me,” he grumbled, rising slowly.

“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? That’s what you want,” she noted, taking her stand and facing him on the sand.

“Where are you going with this?” he asked, mirroring her position but not making the first move.

She pushed his shoulders, hard, but he was ready for her and his balance didn’t shift. She tried to hit him twice and he blocked her. Kicks had the same result. He’d parry, but nothing else.

“Come on, you can do better than that!” she pressed.

Cara wouldn’t aim for his head or his injured side, but she was starting to be tempted. She dived to the left quickly and came back up with a right hook, which finally connected with his stomach. Not missing such a golden opportunity, she used her momentum to grab his knees and propel him to the ground. The sand was soft, but he still grunted in surprise.

 _Now they were talking_.

Thinking he was finally getting into it, she aimed for more punches, but he easily rolled to the side. _Huh_. So maybe he was a bit quicker without his armor. Or maybe she’d been sitting on her ass for too long in Nevarro. Refusing to be deterred, she lunged for his back, her right forearm circling his throat, applying sufficient pressure to be painful and cut his breath. She wouldn’t be going easy on him, and it seemed he had come to the same conclusion, as he head-butted her from behind. Her lip split, but she smiled.

He managed to slip from her grasp in the resulting temporary confusion on her part, and switched their positions. But since he was apparently fine with head shots, she quickly elbowed him in the face, and the surprised look in his eyes at the pain told her it had been a long time he hadn’t fought without beskar protecting him there. Cara pushed against his shoulders, and this time he did lose his balance, but he reflexively pulled up his knees, preventing her from laying on his chest. He pushed against her, she rolled, and they both had enough time to stand up again.

“Not bad for an old man,” she praised, and his answering smile was the first genuine expression of joy she saw on his face since he’d revealed it to her. It even reached his eyes and she was almost too distracted to notice him going for the attack again. But that had actually given her an idea, and she managed to sidestep him at the last second.

She leaped to the left, and as she’d expected, he did the same, thinking she’d meant to aim a punch, but she hadn’t. Cara knew the twin moons, low on the horizon at this hour and very bright, had been right behind her. They were now directly in his line of sight and he blinked hard, the sudden light jarring his senses and his already over-taxed eyes.

Not feeling any guilt whatsoever, she knocked him to the ground, and he went down heavily, all his breath whooshing out when she slammed against him. He tapped the sand, signaling defeat, and Cara stood up proudly, holding out her hand.

“That was cheating,” he complained, but accepted her help standing up.

“I was just using your current inability to see properly as an advantage,” she answered.

“Like I said, _cheating_ ,” he confirmed, but there was no malice in his voice. On the contrary.

“Still think you’re worthless without your armor? You might have beaten me if you could see properly,” she admitted. “You are a lot lighter on your feet without it, and you’re clearly in better shape than me at the moment, thanks for making me realize it.”

“I thought the idea was to get me back _inside_ the armor, not making me realize I don’t need it,” he commented, walking back to the ramp next to her.

“I just wanted you to see that you’re not _just_ an armor,” Cara replied, shrugging.

“ _Verd ori'shya beskar'gam_ ,” he replied in Mando’a.

“What does that mean?”

“It means ‘a warrior is more than his armor’. And I guess I might have forgotten it a bit, yeah,” he conceded and they sat back down.

“ _Might_?” she repeated, scoffing.

“Okay, okay... I got your point,” Din gave in, his tone still light.

They were silent again, but the atmosphere was definitely more relaxed than before. Cara admitted to herself that she’d missed that – the sparring and the banter. She’d been set adrift ever since the Battle of Endor, and even if she knew that no company was better than bad company, she hadn’t had that easy connection with anyone since her Rebellion days. And most of those people were dead, now. It seemed unfair that their friendship would need to come to an end over such a simple act. Din had made her understand in his own way that he’d rather just disappear, now. Until this moment, she’d been focused on what the separation would mean for the kid, but for once she’d allow herself a more selfish observation – not seeing him again would _suck_. Big time.

She’d come to rely and appreciate seeing him regularly on Nevarro. And with the Imps definitely gone from the planet now, she didn’t see the appeal of continuing to stay there if Din stopped coming by. And that little boy of his? _Fuck it_ , she’d grown attached, too. She’d found herself imagining several times in the past what kind of kid he would grow up to be. What words she could teach him. What plans they could come up with to mess with his dad.

Cara remembered what it had felt like finding him all alone in the Crest. And then the joy he hadn’t been able to contain when she was holding him against her chest as the carbonite slowly released his father. She hadn’t needed to have her eyes opened to feel it. Which made her realize something else.

“The kid had already seen your face, right? He immediately recognized you without your helmet. I felt bad for letting him see you, but I couldn’t figure out how I could hold him back.”

“Yeah, he’s seen me without my helmet a few times. It’s okay to show your face among your clan and I thought… Well, I felt safer with him knowing what I looked like, just in case.”

“Did he freak out when he realized you weren’t just a tin-can head?” she couldn’t help asking.

“I expected him to, but no. Somehow, I think he always knew I had a face under there.”

“He’s a lot smarter than he lets on,” Cara agreed, and Din nodded in reply.

The accusing mudhorn signet sprang back to her mind – yes, they were a clan of two, Cara remembered the armorer’s words. And the pride in Din’s voice when he’d accepted it. Clan was family, and she understood that, now. And family wasn’t something the Mandalorian had had in a while, it seemed. It wasn’t something she had had in a while either, and she could only explain what she said next as coming from that particular absence.

“What if I was also part of your clan? Would it make it okay for me to have seen your face, then?”

She expected Din to either sigh tiredly at her new attempt at having him put his helmet back on or laugh at her joke that wasn’t one. But he did neither of those things. Instead, it was the first time she saw him actually considering her words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you yell at me regarding the chronology of events with the Siege of Mandalore, I'm only running with a personal theory (that is going to be crushed by Season 2, but that's just what it is: the personal theory of someone bad at math). Din would have been 10 at the beginning of the Clone Wars when he is rescued by the Mandalorians, making him 40 at the time of this story. Which explains why he doesn't like Cara thinking he's 50...
> 
> As always, your kudos and comments are appreciated - thanks again for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm shifting POV for this chapter - more insight on Din's mind.  
> Thanks again for your comments and your kudos: they make my days, always.

Din had never seen that particular look on Cara’s face. And not just because he’d only recently started seeing her without his _buy'ce_. No, this was something else. This was…uncertainty. Maybe a bit of regret. But not about saying the words themselves. At least, he didn’t think so. But rather about saying the words _out loud_.

And yes, her words had been surprising. More surprising had been his automatic reaction – yes. Yes, Cara being part of his clan, that made perfect sense. And then he’d had to shake himself – no. Of course not. It was impossible. She wasn’t a Mandalorian or a foundling. She was… Well, his friend. More than that. She’d saved his life. Several times, now. And he trusted her, and had said so to her. So why wasn’t that enough? It _should_ be enough. More than enough. And yet…

 _Technically_ , he knew she could become a Mandalorian. They welcomed outsiders who wanted to start anew, and she’d be a perfect fit, really. But she could never be part of his clan, which was about to become the shortest-lived in existence.

“Though I guess I’d have to wear a bucket on my head, right? I can’t condemn my hair to the same fate as yours, I’m an Alderaanian,” she interrupted his musings.

Her tone was falsely cheerful – she was trying to make light of her outburst, and Din knew he had two choices. He could either ask her if she’d meant it, _really_ meant it, but then he’d have to spend the next few minutes explaining to her why it was more than likely impossible and wouldn’t resolve his helmet situation anyway as he had still broken his oath – and that meant disappointing her, the first time she had allowed herself to show him vulnerability, and he would _hate_ doing that – or he could follow her example.

“What’s wrong with my hair?” he asked.

“Your hair is a disaster,” she replied, clearly relieved that he had decided to go there.

“I know it’s a bit long, but…”

“It’s not just that,” she continued, and Din realized he’d probably bitten more than he could chew. “It’s all volume and no structure. I mean _obviously_ I understand you’re the one who’s been cutting it. But there’s a nice wave to it, you could clearly do something…well, if not _nice_ , at least _better_.”

“A nice wave?” he repeated, completely lost.

“If you’re not going to put that thing back on, at least let me help you. It’s a tragedy at the moment.”

“Oh, is that why you haven’t been able to look me in the eye?” Din pressed, deciding to play her game.

“How can you tell? You can’t see shit,” she countered.

“I can see enough. And you are _not_ touching my hair.”

“Why do you even keep it this long? Wouldn’t it make more sense to shave it? I mean, it’d be a shame, but it’s not like you have anybody to impress with it,” Cara continued.

Din grumbled and ran his hands through said hair. He liked his hair. Just the way it was. Yes, it was starting to be too long and he knew he had to remedy the situation soon, helmet or no helmet. But why did she have to make everything so complicated and personal? To think he’d wanted to help her avoid an uncomfortable discussion. And _this_ was what he got in return. _Mockery_.

“It’s… I just prefer it like this. It’s more comfortable under the helmet. It adds some padding.”

The other Mando kids had made fun of his hair. His _buir_ had made fun of his hair. It was never straight – was it this _wave_ she was talking about? – and he’d complain anytime he was told to have it cut. Cara wouldn’t be allowed to approach his hair with a pair of scissors. That was settled.

“So _now_ you’re telling me that helmet is uncomfortable? I thought you were trying to sell the idea to me,” she added, and he wondered if this was her closing that conversation for good or not.

“I’m gonna check on the kid,” he announced, standing up, and she didn’t look too put out that he was stopping her teasing session.

The boy was just waking up from his nap, and happy to be greeted by him, if his pleased coos were any indication. Din took him in his arms and walked around the ship for a bit. He’d noticed that it always took him longer to wake up properly from his naps than from sleeping the night. And that if he tried in any way to rush the process, the child would be cranky and fussy longer.

He didn’t want a cranky and fussy baby, especially now that their time together was about to be cut short.

Din sat down heavily with a sigh, his back against a crate. His head was still spinning a bit from his fight with Cara, although he’d never admit as much to her. Just like he hadn’t admitted that food still made him nauseous. Carbonite would _not_ be a revisited experience.

The boy playfully pushed against his chest, testing the resistance there. He was more surprised at the missing armor than at the missing helmet. Not for the first time, Din had the distinct impression that he saw him the same way whether he wore the _buy'ce_ or not. As if he’d always been able to see his face, somehow. Or always knew who he was underneath. Maybe it was one of his magic tricks. Din definitely wished he had the same powers – it would mean that having broken his oath was a moot point.

_His oath. His creed._

Din still hadn’t come to terms with any of it. Or decided how long he could allow himself to delay the inevitable. His poor visual acuity was a good excuse, but it wouldn’t last for much longer – his sight was getting better hour after hour. He’d probably be able to see perfectly well tomorrow.

But he was still stuck – part of him knew that he had made the best possible decision at the time. Not removing his helmet would have led to the boy’s capture, or worse. And yet his _anger_ was still the most prevalent feeling inside him. Anger at not having been able to defend himself against the three Rodians and prevent the situation from happening in the first place, but mostly anger at the unfairness of it all. He’d only had his foundling for a few months. They were a clan. _Family_. And he had been given a worthy mission – finding the little one’s species. Reunite him with them if – and that was a big _if_ in his book – they were able to take care of him.

The child was a mystery to him but he was _his_ , in all the ways that mattered. He didn’t care one bit that they looked nothing alike, that their lifespan was widely different or that they could hardly communicate yet. The kid was his _ad’ika_. No one else’s.

As the covert’s dedicated _beroya_ he’d come across several foundlings during his time. Scared out of their minds, oftentimes mute and incapable of telling him if they had any family left. It would always take patience, empathy and acceptance. Three qualities he had never lacked. Slowly, very slowly, he’d coax them into coming out of their shells, his bounties forgotten. Foundlings were the future. They always came first.

When he was lucky, there was someone to take those children back to. And the happiness of reuniting kids to their loved ones was a feeling that wouldn’t leave him for days, even if, as a Mandalorian, he usually received a cold welcome. But generally, there wasn’t – he’d land on planets in the grip of petty wars or famine and the kids he came across were barely surviving the horrors the adults had caused. Those were the harder to reach. It could take him days sometimes just to get them to say anything to him. But Din would wait, quietly. Never pushing once he’d made sure they were no longer in physical danger.

He hadn’t said anything to the Mando who had rescued him for days, either. They’d been fine communicating with gestures. And just like his savior had done, Din would then take the foundlings back to his covert, where they would be cared for and placed with fitting guardians. Each time, the Alor would give him the possibility to adopt these orphans. Become their _buir_. And each time he refused. Dez Vizla had been Death Watch. Din Djarin was _beroya_. He worked alone. There was no room for a child.

But he knew he had forged a special bond with these children, just like he had forged a bond with his rescuer. And every time he’d come back from a mission, he could feel their eyes on him. They wouldn’t necessarily come and talk to him, not at first at least, but they’d follow him around. The oldest and bravest asked him to relate his adventures. The youngest wanted hugs. Simple things. Children things. And he’d always comply. Just like Dez had always complied. He’d sometimes spend more time with foundlings than with adults in between two jobs.

And yes, maybe the first few foundlings had been easy to hand off to the covert when he brought them back. He’d been young and craving action. Always moving, always intent on capturing the hardest targets, no matter what the risks were. Living on pure adrenaline and the constant thrill of beating the odds. But the fall of the Empire had brought in more foundlings and more doubts. And each kid was harder to let go, despite his assurance to his Alor that it was for the best. His hesitation was his brain telling him that maybe he was getting old. Maybe it was time to share what he had learned before it was too late.

And maybe he’d be a fitting _buir_.

What better child to adopt than the one he’d been sent to capture? The irony hadn’t escaped Din, and although he still hadn’t made his peace with all the decisions he had subsequently taken, namely abandoning the kid and indirectly causing the discovery of his covert, the boy slowly waking up in his arms right now had become his to protect and nurture. Up until in his wish to protect and nurture said boy, he’d renounced his faith.

Not for the first time, Din wished that Cara had never come to find him. Whatever the Rodians or the Hutts had in store for him, it was surely better than this. Better than this overwhelming _shame_. Better than being constantly reminded of his failure at upholding his creed. Better than…

The child whimpered.

 _Dammit, not again_. It was now the third time it happened.

“It’s okay, _ad’ika_ , I’m right here,” he whispered, hugging the kid against his chest.

 _Yes, but for how long?_ Seemed to answer the little one with his tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” Din added, his hands stroking the child’s back in soothing circles that did nothing to ease his sobs.

Apologizing hadn’t worked the first two times either. He’d eventually managed to get him to sleep the previous day, the constant sound of his voice doing the trick after a while, but the kid wouldn’t be sleeping again for a few hours, now.

He pushed against him with his small hands, requesting to be put down. It broke him anew that he was rejecting his comfort, but he understood, and complied. The little one waddled decidedly to the other side of the ship, to where he’d reverently laid his _buy'ce_ the previous night. But instead of dragging it to his side again, he sat down next to the helmet and turned his back on him. That was his way of letting him know he was fed up with his antics, and Din received the message loud and clear.

Cara chose that particular moment to come in, saw him on one side of the ship and the kid on the other, but wisely said nothing.

“I’m gonna check the nav to see how long it will take us to reach the new covert,” Din announced, standing up slowly.

The boy spared him a sad look as he walked past him, and he tried not to let it get to him.

Once in the cockpit though, Din didn’t manage to reach the controls. He’d forgotten that his _beskar'gam_ was there. Right where he had left it, waiting to be cleaned following the capture of the recalcitrant Twi’lek.

He couldn’t leave it like that. It was not right.

So he grabbed his cleaning kit and methodically went through the repetitive and soothing motions. He tried not to think too much while doing it. Tried not to acknowledge that it was probably the last time he was doing this. Din didn’t know how long it took him – probably much longer than usual – but his right pauldron gave him the hardest time. The mudhorn signet was still perfectly shiny and clear. Brand new.

_It wasn’t fair._

He almost threw it away in anger but managed to restrain himself. Anger was getting him nowhere. And yet anger was also the only thing that kept him alive at the moment.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Focused on his breathing. Recited the _Resol'nare_ in his mind. But this wasn’t helping either.

Finally, he stood up, left his clean armor where it was, and went back below. He wasn’t sure how long he’d spent up in the cockpit, but it seemed that Cara had managed to soothe the little one. He still frowned at him, though – his slightly burning eyes could tell him as much. That stubbornness of his would be an asset in the long run. But right now, it was annoying.

“So how long is it going to take us to fly there?” asked Cara.

 _Shit_. He’d never actually checked.

“I couldn’t see the screen so well, I’m not sure,” he answered, lying through his teeth – badly, but Cara didn’t seem to want to point it out. A first.

“I think the kid’s hungry,” she said instead, allowing him an out.

“I’ll check if we still have some of that meat dish he liked. Don’t worry, it only needs to be defrosted, I can handle it…” he added preemptively, knowing she’d make a comment.

Din couldn’t make his child understand through words how sorry he was, but the food seemed to help. It was his favorite – spicy, and heart-warming, and he let him feed him small bites. After a while, he even allowed Din to place him on his lap, and ate from his own plate – that was okay, he wasn’t hungry anyway.

It was pointless to ask for the time on Midnight, but they automatically gravitated towards their self-appointed quarters shortly after dinner. Cara wished them goodnight and went up the cockpit, and Din placed the boy in his cradle. He could tell he was fighting sleep – Cara had played with him for a little while, requesting a demonstration of his skills with his prized metal ball, and he always grew tired after those. He should thank her, really. That had been a big help.

Din placed the bassinet at the end of his berth, and laid down backwards on it, so that he could still observe him. He hadn’t wanted Cara to see him do it, but he’d realized he still needed to clean his helmet. Holding it in his hands now, he knew that even if he never put it back on, he wouldn’t be parted from it. It had come from his _buir_ , and he didn’t think the Alor would refuse him that. It had to be resized several times during his life – it was much too big at first. When he was in his late twenties, the armorer had told him she was now actually adding more beskar to it. He’d been utterly stunned to learn he’d outgrown his father. A man who had only wanted one thing from his life, to die a warrior’s death, and hadn’t even gotten it.

He placed the cleaned _buy'ce_ next to him, checked that the kid was now sleeping, and tried to do the same.

* * *

Din was used to dreams – nightmares, really – that had fortunately started to hold less and less power over him as the years went by. It was almost easy now to consciously forget them come morning. Lingering on his past was a luxury he could ill afford in his life, and he was well versed in shaking himself awake anytime he recognized the tell-tale signs of a common bad dream creeping in during the night. But this one had given him no warning – it gripped him by the throat from the start, and didn’t let go. There was no escape as he saw in his mind’s eye all that he cared about being engulfed in flames.

His nightmares were usually pretty basic and simple to understand – revisiting battles, failures, pain or death. This dream was full of images, things he had never seen with his own eyes: flashes of color rushing past, an overpowering heat, screams coming from people he recognized, alive or dead, and others he didn’t. He didn’t actually _see_ the fire laying waste to anything tangible, but he could _feel_ it. Feel it destroy and kill everything that he held or had ever hold dear. He had the disquieting sensation that he was the source of this destruction. That the anger he had barely managed to restrain these past few days was responsible. Not only that, but that he was shown the consequences of his acts. That going through with his plan would wreak havoc on his very soul. By upholding his creed over everything else, he’d cause this darkness to fall upon all that he was trying to protect.

Din startled awake.

His breath was ragged and his body clammy with sweat. The pounding in his ears prevented him from hearing or _feeling_ the child, at first. But he was right there. Burrowed against his side and shaking with repressed sobs. It wasn’t the first time he did that – escaping his cradle and joining him in the berth. But it was the first time he woke up from a nightmare and found him in the same state as him.

Had he caused it? Was he the one who had shown him all those distressing images in his mind? But how?

“Hey, it’s okay, little one. It’s okay,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse still. He hoped they hadn’t woken Cara, but the ship seemed quiet apart from the sound of their loud breathing.

The child replied with the name he reserved for him, the usually happy lilt of his voice desperately mournful now. His small claws clung to his chest, hard, and Din welcomed the discomfort. Even if the kid had indeed somehow _created_ this nightmare with his power – this warning, or whatever it was – they weren’t images suitable for a baby. Even a fifty-year-old one.

“I’ve got you kid, I won’t let this happen, I promise,” he vowed.

Din wasn’t sure what he was promising exactly. His thoughts were still very much in the grip of the vision – for a lack of a better term – that the child had conjured up in his mind. Slowly, very slowly, he managed to focus on other thoughts. Warmth, safety. A hug from his _buir_. The quietness of the krill ponds on Sorgan at night. A shared meal. Things he thought the kid would understand. And eventually, it worked, and the claws released him.

The little one slept.

He didn’t.

When Cara came down several hours later, he had made two discoveries: one, he could see almost perfectly again, as he had anticipated. And two, he wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

“What’s up?” she asked, seeing him sitting in his now usual spot on the floor, his back against a crate and the kid playing with wooden blocks he had recently purchased for him.

“Were you serious?” he answered with a question of his own.

“About what?” she pressed, checking their provisions because he hadn’t made breakfast yet.

“About being part of my clan. And about adopting the kid instead of taking him to my covert.”

“Wow, slow down,” Cara said, turning swiftly towards him and forgetting all about food. “Are you serious?”

“That was my first question.”

She rolled her shoulders and looked everywhere but at him. The metal walls, the floor, the kid – anything.

“I’m…trying to explore my options,” he explained.

Cara mumbled a curse, sighed, then sat down, the little one between them.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” she asked, her eyes finally settling on his.

“I’m growing concerned about his reaction,” he said.

“You’re only noticing it now?”

“I thought it would pass. I thought… I thought I’d be able to make him understand. But he’s not a regular kid. He’s…”

“He _absorbs_ ,” Cara tried. And yes, that was a fitting description, and he nodded.

“And I keep remembering something my _buir_ told me, long ago. Just before he died…” And Din could see the scene so well. He could almost touch it.

“What was it?” Cara pressed, when he wouldn’t speak.

“He told me Mandalorians evolved or they died. We were fleeing Mandalore at the time, and our lives had just unequivocally changed. For the worse, no doubt about it. But we _did_ survive.”

“Because you evolved.”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“And what’s it got to do with your current situation?” she asked, even if he could tell she was mostly voicing that question to force him to say it out loud.

“Everything,” Din replied. “It’s not just about me having broken my oath because I let my guard down. It’s about all those close calls I’ve had since the kid’s been in my life. It’s about Moff Gideon being still alive. It’s about other Empire remnants also probably being at large. It’s about getting justice for Mandalore, and for the Purge, and for everything in between.”

Din could see her stare hardening and her mind likely going to Alderaan. He had to hand it to her – she had sounded almost normal when telling him about her dead family the previous day. Sure, this was war, and she was a soldier. She knew what could happen and was hopefully better equipped than most people to deal with loss. But still. It had hurt.

“So what are you saying?” Cara demanded.

“I’m saying I need to evolve, too. And I need help protecting the kid. I don’t know yet if that’s going to be with or without my helmet – I’ll need guidance from my Alor about that. But I’d rather die than let the boy go to someone else. I’m supposed to be the one protecting him. And he won’t be safe until Gideon is dead for good.”

The boy had somehow understood he was the subject of their conversation, and turned towards him, colorful blocks held loosely in his hands.

“Boo Boo!” he announced proudly. At least, Din thought that sounded proud.

“So what do you say, Cara?” he asked her. “Will you help me?”

“Cawa!” the little one repeated, facing her again.

“I think you have your answer already,” she replied with a smile.


	6. Chapter 6

Cara had questions. Lots of questions. And Din wasn’t able to answer most of them – not yet, at least. Not until he’d talked to his Alor. It seemed silly in retrospect that it had taken him so long to come to the realization that he needed his leader’s counselling, but he was so used to dealing with everything on his own and upholding the creed without any outside intervention that it was second nature for him to assume that there was just the _one_ Way.

“This Alor you need to talk to,” Cara started again as they made their way to the cockpit, the child quite content now that he had made a decision to remain in his arms. “Who is it?”

“The Alor is our leader,” Din replied, climbing the rungs. “You met her already.”

“The armorer?” she queried.

“Right”, he nodded, sitting down in the pilot seat. He was glad to note that the sight of his armor didn’t hurt as much as the previous day.

“And she’s the one you’re gonna have to convince to keep the kid.”

“Yes.”

“And keep wearing the helmet.”

“If possible, that would certainly be preferable, yes.”

“And have me in your clan.”

“Also yes,” he repeated after a short pause, surprised that Cara had sounded perfectly natural asking about this. Surprised, but pleased.

“And what do you think is going to be the hardest sell?”

 _That_ was a difficult question, and Din stopped checking the nav before replying.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I’ll contact her first to warn her we’re coming. She knows you already so it should help. I’ll have to tell her _why_ we’re coming without _actually_ telling her why.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just fly there and speak to her directly?”

“That wouldn’t be advisable,” he replied after a beat. Surprising the Alor was _never_ a good idea.

“Why not?”

“She’s…she’d know something was up, trust me, it’s better if I warn her a bit in advance.”

The Alor was not to be trifled with. She always seemed to have a sixth sense when someone had done or was about to do something very stupid in the tribe. Din knew that some Mandos called it a ‘bullshit detector’ behind her back. And he’d certainly been on the receiving end of her ire a fair few times.

“She seemed to like you well enough when I saw her. _Surprisingly_ ,” Cara pointed out.

“She’s known me for a long time,” Din replied – more like ‘put up with’, really.

The data was finally entered and he whistled at the result.

“That’ll take a couple of days to reach,” Cara noted.

“They settled far, that’s surprising, but it might be for the best. Though we’ll have to refuel and restock.”

“We still have to drop your targets in Nevarro. And I’d like to get some of my stuff if I’m to travel with the two of you.”

 _Right_. He’d actually completely forgotten about the carbonite blocks he was still carrying. Getting money would also be a nice plus – he was not the only source of income of the tribe at the moment, but he still saved every credit he could spare for them.

“Is Greef going to be mad?” he asked Cara, focusing on the kid once more, as he was trying to press each and every button in the vicinity.

“He knew me working for him was only going to be a temporary arrangement. And you’re still planning on working for the guild, right?”

“Sure, I’m still going to need to earn money,” Din pointed out. That particular kind of worry wasn’t easily dispersed with.

“You and me both.”

“Greef is gonna _love_ that our rates just doubled,” he remarked darkly.

“Yeah, but think of the kind of targets we can pick if it’s the two of us,” she remarked, waggling her eyebrows at the prospect.

Din _had_ thought about it. There were valuable targets he simply didn’t go for because he knew that the odds were just impossible to beat on his own. Which was saying a lot, coming from him. Hope was a dangerous thing, especially when he had no idea how his Alor would react, but if he could remain a Mandalorian _and_ have both Cara and the kid by his side, then he’d truly feel more invincible than ever. And yes, the two of them might actually earn more money than he could reasonably wish for.

“I’ll contact her from Nevarro,” he decided. “We can refuel and restock there. You ready to leave now?”

“How are your eyes?” she asked – more as a habit now than anything else.

“I can see perfectly. Are you going to throw something at me to check?” he still inquired.

“Nah, I missed the element of surprise, now,” she deadpanned, and buckled up behind him.

“Then we’re leaving Midnight,” he announced, breathing a sigh of relief and turning on the engines.

As he watched the dark planet slowly disappear underneath them, the kid excitedly trying to reach the commands – he really should have strapped him in his cradle for take-off, but he found it difficult to part from him since their shared dream – one thing was for certain.

“You said poets came to this planet for inspiration?” he asked Cara.

“From Alderaan, yes,” she confirmed.

“Remind me never to read Alderaanian poetry, then,” he said, and Cara guffawed.

The four hour journey started smoothly, the kid lost in wonder looking at the stars outside and Din happy to share the quiet spectacle with him resting against his chest. But then Cara’s questions started again. And some were unfortunately impossible to ignore.

“So are you going to put your armor and helmet back on once we’re on Nevarro to collect your reward?”

“Huh…”

“Karga is gonna lose his shit if he sees your face,” she interrupted, laughing.

“Maybe you could…”

“I don’t know what the kid likes to eat, so you’re gonna have to do the restocking. Don’t forget to buy some bacta patches as well,” she cut in again, preventing him from suggesting she could maybe see Greef herself. But she had a point – they needed food and supplies, and Karga only paid the bounty hunters directly.

“I can take care of the refueling, though,” she offered.

The only thing that didn’t require leaving the ship, great. Mando grumbled but said nothing. He knew she was having _way_ too much fun with this, now that he had admitted out loud he would actually prefer to put his _beskar'gam_ back on. Which was progress, yes, but still didn’t mean he was ready to do it _right now_. Up until she hit him with her next question.

“And your Alor, you’ll contact her via holocomm, right?”

“Yes,” he replied automatically.

“And how is she going to react when she sees your pretty eyes, do you think?”

 _Shit_. He _definitely_ hadn’t thought this through. He wanted to be honest with the Alor, yes. But maybe not _that_ honest. He’d tell her he’d removed his helmet, but he’d rather not _show_ her if he could help it. If she told him, after their meeting, that he wasn’t worthy of the _buy’ce_ anymore, then that was one thing. But until then… He tried thinking of a reason to request an audio comm only, or find a way not to show his face, but she’d know something was up. She always _knew_.

“Ok, I got your point, I’m putting it back on before we land.”

Shortly after, as he was trying to formulate what he was going to say to the armorer, he realized there was something he had never asked Cara. And that if he didn’t ask her now, they might _definitely_ run into some trouble later.

“About the clan…” he started quietly, as the child had fallen asleep in his arms. “You know it’s like family for us, right? We’d _be_ family.”

“Yeah,” Cara replied simply.

“And you’d be okay with that? The two of us and the kid, as _family_ ,” he stressed again, wondering if she’d catch his drift or if he’d have to spell it out – he hoped not, but knowing her, she’d let him struggle for a while.

“I still remember what a family is, yes,” she said, her tone inscrutable.

So the answer was no, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

“Because… Well, because there are two possibilities, really. For family. And I assumed…”

“What?”

“I mean I’m pretty _sure_ , and I’ve known you for a while now, but…”

“Yes?”

“Well, since it’s been pointed out to me several times in the past that I can be…”

“That you can be what?” she cut in. The amount of fun he was sure she was having was simply wrong.

“Kind of… _blind_ , I guess, when it comes to…”

“ _Oblivious_ , is the word,” she interrupted him again – she’d never let him finish that sentence. Which, granted, was getting a bit long.

“Right, that,” he agreed – the word _had_ been used after all. “Well, we’d be…brother and sister, right? Nothing else. You’re okay with that?”

“As opposed to?” Cara asked, and he could clearly see in her eyes when he turned around that she _knew_. Of _course_ , she knew. And still she played the innocent. Why did he want her in his clan again?

“You really want me to say it,” Din complained, tired of pretending that this was easy for him.

“I feel that you must,” she smiled, the very picture of virtue. “Now that I know you’re about to put that bucket back on, I want to treasure all the different expressions on your face.”

He grumbled a few choice words in Mando’a, checked that the little one was still out cold, and took a deep breath to center his thoughts.

“If not brother and sister then it would be… Not necessarily married, but that would still mean we are together _together._ The armorer _will_ ask.”

“She’ll use those words? ‘Are you together _together_?’ I really thought she was older than a teenager.”

“Fine!” he finally snapped, but kept his voice as low as possible for the kid’s sake. “It’s either brother and sister or we’re a couple. I’m pretty sure I haven’t read you _completely_ wrong, but I still thought it was better to check it wasn’t something you were expecting for us. So this is me, checking!”

Cara seemed to be having a hard time not laughing – and frankly, he was too – but this was actually a serious conversation.

“What are the words in Mando’a for brother and sister?” she eventually asked after she was done struggling for a few seconds.

“ _Vod_ , it’s the same word.”

“Same word for brother and sister?”

“There is no gender in Mando’a,” Din explained.

“There’s certainly some redeeming qualities to this language, I had no idea,” she nodded, thoughtful.

Din turned towards her again – she still hadn’t answered his question.

“ _Very well_ , I’ll be your _vod_ , Mando,” Cara agreed.

“You sound absolutely thrilled,” Din noted, but he was satisfied with her answer – and glad that they would soon be able to forget everything about ever having this awful conversation.

“You _do_ know my type is a little more boobs and a little less beard, right?”

“What’s wrong with my…” Din started, scratching his stubbly cheeks. And then he understood what she had meant, and part of him was happy to learn that he hadn’t been completely oblivious for once, while another part wondered how he should answer her question. How he was _supposed_ to answer her question. But she’d just agreed to be his sister, after all. That meant he was also allowed to tease her a bit.

“I _have_ noticed how you have been looking at Omera, too, yes.”

“What do you mean, ‘too’? Are you admitting…”

“And just so we’re clear, you are _not_ to hit on the armorer when we see her,” he cut in, just in time.

“Are you sure that wouldn’t help your case?” she offered.

“ _Definitely_ not, ” he stressed – although he actually had no idea. But he preferred to play it safe. And Cara was…absolutely _not_ safe.

She grumbled slightly, but said nothing. Unfortunately, it didn’t last for very long.

“Some people actually used the word ‘oblivious’ to describe you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied, teeth set.

“Was it warranted?”

“I…don’t know,” he admitted.

“Of course you don’t know,” she snorted. “To think of all those poor hearts you broke out there… Makes me feel really emotional.”

Din was tempted to add something but didn’t – if they could finally be done with this ridiculous talk, then all the better. But that was before Cara found _another_ subject of conversation to pass the time. Surely they were almost there, right?

“Did you ever think about settling down? Having your own family? Well, whatever settling down is for Mandos…”

Din stayed silent for a long time. And when Cara didn’t insist, he wondered if she had realized she was crossing a line. But she wasn’t, not really. It was a honest, though personal question, and he could choose to answer her or not.

“Maybe, long ago. There was someone, but we were just kids, and she died anyway,” he decided to reply.

From Cara’s continued silence, he realized that he had said either too much or too little.

“What was her name?” she eventually queried.

“Ilena”, he told her. That name hadn’t escaped his lips for a couple of decades. But it had continued to roam the recess of his mind. And he’d clung to it and the memories it evoked late at night sometimes.

“What was she like?” Cara asked, her voice soft.

“Fierce, and an excellent shot. She joined our tribe with her younger sister when I was around fifteen. They were foundlings, like me, and she wouldn’t give me the time of day for the longest time, but…”

“You liked her,” Cara guessed, and he shrugged – she wasn’t wrong. It was rare when older kids closer to his age joined the covert. And even rarer when they weren’t wearing a helmet. She was sworn to the creed shortly after, and she and her sister were adopted into a newly formed clan. Still, Din had had the time to observe her, with her long, smooth black hair and olive skin. She’d been a beautiful sight, and he was transfixed from the start.

“Eventually I must have done something right, because she finally noticed me about a year later. And we became inseparable for the next two years, even if we tried to keep it a secret.”

“Look at that! Teenage Din, rebelling against his creed,” Cara marveled.

“Our oath doesn’t frown at making attachments, especially with other Mandos, and we were of age.”

“You were in love?”

“In the way that eighteen year old kids are, yeah, I guess.”

“How did she die?” Cara asked, then immediately added, “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s okay. It was so long ago, now. Just a stupid mission that went wrong. I wasn’t there. She was _trat'aab_ , infantry, and they were ambushed. She didn’t come back,” he concluded simply.

In the years following her death, after he’d asked – _begged_ – the Alor to let him become the new _beroya_ and escape missions where he would have to fight alongside other Mandos who reminded him of her and her demise, he’d find himself utterly floored anytime he caught a glimpse of long black hair in a crowd, persuaded it was her.

He’d vowed never to love again and after a while, the shock passed. But the memories would still resurface sometimes, and grip his heart like a vice. Like the first time he’d laid his eyes on Omera and thought his mind was playing a trick on him – she was very much like Ilena in so many ways, not just in looks. And getting to know her daughter Winta had made him ponder painful might have beens.

“I don’t know if we would have stayed together or gotten married, we were so young. But I guess if it was to happen it would have been with her,” he finished.

Din smiled, because talking about her with Cara had actually been nice – he’d resurrected her memory for an instant and it hadn’t been painful. Sad, yes. But not painful.

Before he could think about directing the same questions at her, the computer announced that they were about to approach Nevarro’s system, and he prepared for landing. Still, he made a note in his mind to ask her, one day. Because she might have a similar story to tell. And she might also find peace in sharing it with him.

Cara left him in the cockpit to put on his armor and he was glad, as his hands were slightly shaking. He’d done it countless times, but he’d never imagined he would be able to pinpoint the last time he would go through the practiced movements. Up until yesterday, he had thought this moment would never happen again. And for someone who was persuaded he’d die wearing this very armor, this was saying a lot.

The child had woken up when they touched down, and he was observing him quietly from the pilot seat.

“I guess we both got what we wanted in the end, yeah?” Din asked him – and he could swear he saw the kid nod.

He put him in the _birikad_ , and the boy cooed, as he was always happy to be carried in his harness. Din had been worried the first time they landed on Nevarro again: after all, the little one should have only bad memories about this place. But he had never reacted strangely to his surroundings. Still, he felt better having him right against him.

Din tried to make it look as though putting his helmet back on once he’d climbed below deck was nothing, but he knew it was no use pretending with the way Cara was looking at him. She seemed genuinely happy and proud of him.

And when the ramp was lowered, he realized his _buy’ce_ had other advantages right now.

“Has this always been so bright here?” he asked, squinting against the light, quickly adjusting the settings of his visor on his vambrace.

“Still hurts, then?” Cara asked with a knowing smile.

“Not much sunshine on Midnight…” he grumbled as they started walking, but the helmet was doing its job, and after a minute he started enjoying the heat against the beskar – something else he hadn’t been sure he’d ever feel again.

“Are you planning to paint this thing at any point?” she uttered as they were making their way to the high street. “Or do you like looking like a disco ball? Because let me tell you, walking beside you under the sun, even _my_ eyes are starting to hurt.”

Din sighed but said nothing – trust Cara to always keep him on his toes.

They split up once Karga had paid his dues and been informed of their new set up – he actually seemed excited that they’d soon be able to take on challenging targets – and met again on the restocked and soon to be refueled Crest. Din had been silently going over his conversation with the armorer in his mind, and he realized that visiting his tribe would mean visiting someone in particular.

“Hey, Cara?” he asked as they were both trying to organize the ship’s storage better, now that the carbonite load was empty.

“Yeah?” she replied, finding room for the stuff she had brought – unsurprisingly, it was mostly weapons, and Din _always_ had room for more weapons.

“After I contact the Alor, do you think we could spar again before taking off? For training?”

“With or without your armor?” she asked, clearly interested.

“Both? I think you were onto something when you suggested I might benefit from doing drills without it.”

“Anything in particular you want to train for?” she inquired, arms akimbo. “We also have two days of travelling to kill, and if the kid’s asleep, we wouldn’t have a repeat of the arm-wrestling match fiasco.”

“True,” he agreed, as he could see that the idea of sparring was definitely one she relished – something that should have probably worried him.

“And I’d like to practice taking down larger targets. How to counter balance weight and everything. See what I mean?”

“I see very well. Someone in particular you have in mind?”

“No,” he lied easily.

* * *

“Now let’s talk,” suggested the armorer after Cara had been served a pint of _ne'tra gal_.

She had to admit, it tasted pretty good. But this wasn’t going to be very helpful in the long run. Din’s Alor – well, her Alor too now, she guessed – had suggested this meeting, and she had no idea what to expect. Her _vod_ had been no help, as he was still being congratulated by other Mandos when the woman had approached her.

There were sitting in a small alcove, and Cara had never felt more naked without a helmet before in her life. She certainly regretted all the times she had called Din’s a bucket. She could have certainly used one right about now.

“Why were they all cheering Din after the fight? Is it tradition or something?” she wondered, incapable of resisting asking about it.

“Not exactly, no. Paz Vizla and Din Djarin have been greeting each other in the same manner for years, now. The fight is usually a draw or a win for Paz, so the tribe must have been happy with the result.”

Cara pondered how much of the armorer’s words were to be taken seriously, her tone was inscrutable. But she had certainly felt the animosity between the two men – no sooner had they had their talk with her, and it had taken a long time and been more than a bit stressful – that this huge Mando in blue armor had literally jumped Din. Cara had held her breath, wondering if she was supposed to intervene, but more Mandos had gathered in the small square and started observing the scene quietly.

She definitely knew now why Din had asked to go through that _particular_ kind of drills with her – the other Mando, Paz, was frighteningly impressive. But her friend had speed and litheness in his favor, and she was proud to see he’d remembered all their lessons. Paz found himself flat on his back rather quickly. Still, she had never seen Din getting riled up so fast – he was usually a lot more level-headed. But not this time. As soon as the big guy had started punching, he was there, the child thankfully already distracted and in the arms of a gushing Mando.

That baby was probably never going to be let down, the whole time they were here – it was almost comical how a bunch of heavily armored warriors had suddenly turned to mush when presented with the little one. Especially when they started doing the silly voices. Cara was pretty sure the tyke had greatly appeased the tribe’s unease at her appearance, and Din had wisely suggested she carried him in the harness when they arrived. Something about Mandos not hitting each other when someone was holding a baby. “At least, not too hard,” he’d conceded, and there again Cara had to wonder whether she was supposed to take him seriously or not.

“Maybe I should have stopped the fight sooner. But it proved entertaining,” the Alor continued, and Cara did her best not to swallow her beer wrong.

“Maybe that Vizla dude will think twice next time,” she replied. She could tell there was bad blood between the two men, but she couldn’t help feeling protective of Din, as he could’ve been snapped in two.

“There is a lot of history between them. Paz’s brother was the one who rescued Din after his family was killed. And I think Paz was jealous of the close bond they had. He never had the time to pick up the pieces with his brother before he disappeared, and he felt guilty.”

“What happened to his brother?” Cara asked.

“Dez Vizla was Death Watch, a splinter Mandalorian group with a complicated past. They were forced into exile and no one knows exactly what became of them.”

Cara wondered if there was a Mandalorian group _without_ a complicated past.

“And why does Din feel the same way about him? He was happy about the chance to fight, clearly,” she noted.

“Din Djarin’s reasons are more personal. Perhaps now that you are _aliit_ he will share them with you.”

“Has it got anything to do with Ilena?” she guessed, and the unflappable woman faltered slightly.

“He told you about her?” she marveled.

“Just a little,” she admitted. “Enough to know that it ended badly.”

Cara drank some more of the dark beer – she’d have to ask Din where they could get some, it was delicious, and she wondered how the tribe had managed to brew some so soon after their arrival. Maybe they’d brought it with them, and if that was the case Cara felt honored – there probably wasn’t that much left of their traditional drink.

“She was in the same infantry unit as Paz and he was training her. The mission was suicide from the start and several members of our tribe died. Paz wasn’t at fault, but Din never forgave him because he never forgave himself for not having been there that day, even if he would have probably died as well.”

“But at least he would have had a warrior’s death,” she noted, and the Alor nodded.

“This is the Way.”

Cara stayed silent as this was something she could definitely understand.

“So instead of talking about it like adults, they’ve been at each other’s throats since then,” she concluded.

“Indeed,” she sighed, and Cara saw her imperceptibly nod at her whispered ‘ _Men_ ’.

“I didn’t think Din would form any other attachments after this, which is why I was thrilled that he accepted to take on a foundling, and now a sister,” she added. “But it was foolish of me to assume that it would be without its trials or surprises.”

Not liking the sound of those ominous words, Cara tried to ease the tension, which proved to be a mistake at first.

“I’m pretty sure he was tempted to form _another_ attachment when I met him, but this one he resisted bravely,” she quipped.

Then had to stare at the bottom of her empty glass in misery for the next minute when the other woman said nothing.

 _Why the hell had she said that?_ Now the Alor was gonna think that Din violated his creed every other day and slept with women left and right when he was the _exact opposite_. Why did she have to make a joke about everything all the time? This was why she worked alone, this was why…

“Who was she?” the armorer eventually asked, and Cara was pretty sure that was amazement in her voice.

So she told her about meeting Din on Sorgan and about the villagers they helped and the time they spent on the lush planet. She told her about Omera and her daughter – and prayed that she hadn’t used too many adjectives to describe the widow – and Din’s wish to leave the boy with them at first. And she made it very clear that at no point his faith wobbled. Even if it would have made more than one person _very happy_ if it had, her included. That last part, she dutifully kept to herself.

“Two decades of mourning is a long time,” she cryptically commented once she was done with her narrative. It was certainly open to interpretation, and she wondered if Din would agree that he basically had the okay from his Alor to…let his faith wobble. Probably not. He’d never believe that she’d had that conversation with her in the first place anyway.

“But because of his grief he decided to focus on becoming our best _beroya_ instead. And he did. Din Djarin never does anything lightly – if he sets his mind on something, then you can be sure he won’t rest until he has achieved it.”

And that was certainly true of the current situation, although here again, she didn’t say it in so many words. She had mostly only been listening to Din’s account earlier, never interrupting, never showing any kind of reaction, and when they had left her to ‘think’, Cara had realized that she had never actually said yes or no.

“Part of me always worried that his isolation was penance. That for all his assurance that he preferred to be on his own, it was just him trying to convince himself that it was for the best,” she continued.

Cara couldn’t help but agree with the Alor’s assessment – for a fearsome bounty hunter, he did attach to people he found trustworthy enough quickly. And she included herself in that description. Perhaps Din liked to pretend he was better when left alone. But he’d never pushed her away, on the contrary. He’d become a lonely warrior by choice and force of habit, not because it suited him better.

“This is a problem we face with many of our foundlings – this feeling of unworthiness that they sometimes carry. We do what we can to stamp it out, but some children simply refuse to hear reason and will always _think_ they are inferior, unfortunately.”

She seemed genuinely sad about this observation, and Cara felt for her – she’d seen what war and loss did to adults. With children, it was always worse.

“I would be lying if I said that what I heard today coming from a devout follower of our creed didn’t surprise me.”

Cara held her breath – had she asked to speak with her only to refuse their request?

“But this creed was meant for a world that is gone. And maybe never existed,” she added more softly, and Cara breathed out slowly.

“He told me his _buir_ said to him that Mandalorians had to evolve, or they died,” she remembered.

“And he was right,” she agreed. “Look for this Moff Gideon together and let us know once you’ve found him – the battle is one we will all take part in, as it concerns us all.”

Cara beamed, and nodded.

“You are a worthy clan. Unconventional, yes, but you might prove to be just what our tribe needs to look towards the future, for once.”

They both stood up, and Cara wondered if they were supposed to shake hands, but she beat her to it and shook her lower arm instead.

“Before you go, tell me…”

And there again Cara wondered if she was going to enforce some sort of caveat, like her having to wear a helmet or reciting prayers day and night.

“Is his hair still the same mess it was as when he was a kid?”

This time, Cara didn’t manage to hold in her laughter, and let it out, loudly.

“I _did_ offer to cut it for him, and he refused,” she complained as they made their way out.

“Pity, your hair is beautiful, you clearly know what to do with it.”

Cara nodded in agreement and hoped Din would believe her when she told him later that she hadn’t flirted with the Alor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story all the way to the end. I hope you enjoyed the journey!  
> Thanks again for your kudos and comments - I might revisit this clan one day, and take them on their next adventure. :)


End file.
